49. Carsluith via Creetown to Newton Stewart

At the very respectable hour of 9:35am I leave my B&B in Newton Stewart (the Brewery House) and drive the ½ mile down to Riverside Road where I park up. I know that sounds lazy, but I expect to be tired at the end of this walk! A short wander up to Victoria Street allows me to catch the No 500 bus to Carsluith, where I ended yesterday’s walk.

After being prepared for ‘Kircudbright’, I’d previously checked online how to pronounce ‘Carsluith’ – supposedly it has the stress on the ‘Cars’, and a soft ‘ith’. Anyway, the bus driver didn’t have a clue where I was talking about, and suggested to me in his broad Glaswegian accent “Cazzerdoughr?” Guessing (wrongly) that this might be his name for the place, I offered up my bank card to the reader and bought the ticket, but as I wasn’t wearing my glasses I was oblivious. I sat down, put my glasses on and was shocked to see I’d paid £8.30 and was on my way to Castle Douglas, 30 miles away. I wasn’t in the mood for a Glaswegian argument, so just sat there and got off at Carsluith twenty minutes later, £6.20 worse off than I should have been.

So here I am back at the delightful Carsluith bus stop, only slightly narked, but looking forward to a nice day’s walking. This lane being the old A75, it runs roughly parallel to the new A75 which is down nearer the coastline. Yesterday’s fog has gone.

A very nice house hugs the shoreline, with huge windows both sides.

Lambs are playing on the hillside above me, occasionally pestering and annoying their mothers.

A couple of eateries sit incongruously aside each other near the end of the lane. The Bayview Diner and the Galloway Smokehouse are huge for such a tiny hamlet.

At the end of the grandiosely named Carsluith High Street, I rejoin the new A75, but now it has a footpath!

Now I’ve decided to take a small diversion (actually it’s closer to the coast than the main road, so is preferred according to my guidance) to investigate an old industrial site that meant this rather remote place was a hive of activity many years ago, and led to Creetown becoming one of the wealthiest villages in Scotland for a time. Just 300 metres up the road is a fenced off track on the left leading to an old quayside. This was for transporting the stone from Kirkmabrek Quarry, which is on the right. The quarry is well fenced off, as it’s pretty dangerous. You can’t see it from here, and although I’d like to investigate, my record with dangerous things means it’s not a good idea.

A locked gate guards the rough track leading to the quay on the left hand side. I’m pretty sure there’s a way through here though. Sure enough, I skirt the side of the fence and after a bit of clambering I’m through.

Now I thought this old track used to have a tramway running along it to take the stone from the quarry to the quay, but comparing an old 1850 map that shows the tramway to the latest OS map, the land I’m on was in the sea back then! This whole triangle of land appears to have been created, maybe from spoil from the quarry? A map from 1894 shows this triangle complete, along with the track I’m walking along, but in 1850 it definitely wasn’t here.

I’ve noticed an odd word on both old and modern maps in Scotland that I’d not previously seen… “Inks”. It took me a while to search past all the normal references to the word, to find:

On historical maps of Scotland, particularly those from the 19th-century Ordnance Survey, but also modern OS maps, the term “Inks” (such as in ‘Inks of Machermore’) refers to grazing land near the sea or river estuary. The Scottish National Dictionary cites Galloway sources defining inks as ‘rich sea marsh’ and ‘shore pasture’.

There, now I know.

There’s an old lighthouse marked on the 1850 map as well, marked as “Lighthouse (Temporary)”. Today it’s even more temporary – just a pile of rubble, so I’m afraid it doesn’t make it into my lighthouse collection (not that I have any rules for entry, but when it doesn’t have a light or a house anymore, it’s stretching the definition of ‘lighthouse’ a little too far).

The mid-nineteenth century saw granite quarries developed all around Creetown and Carsluith, supplying the granite used in such constructions as Liverpool docks and London Bridge. Top quality silver grey granite was quarried here for over 150 years and sent all over the UK.

This feels a little like a post-apocalyptic movie, old industrial land repopulated with small trees, struggling to break their roots through the crumbling concrete. I like it. No zombies around though.

I reach the quay at the end of the track and find three fishermen quietly going about their fishing. I chat with one, who comes here regularly. I was going to try to match up some old photos of the quay with modern ones, but the old wood has rotted away now and the stones have been removed. And the fisherman wasn’t there in the old picture.

In 2012 apparently there were plans to re-open the quay as a timber port, but it clearly came to nothing.

From the quay it’s possible to see the old quarry that was obscured from the road.

…and this is how it looked in its heyday:

After my diversion into local industrial history, it’s back to the A75.

A mile further up the road, Castle Cary Holiday Park sits in the grounds of the old Castle Cary, which was formerly the residence of Sir James Caird MP. The park is run by the same family to this day, although the caravans are in a better state than the castle. The original castle was called “Cassencarie“, a 16th-century tower house which evolved from a tower built by the Muirs of Cassencarie (c. 1575–1600).

So, here comes my now-traditional self-injury incident. To get that picture of Cassencarie I climb up a small embankment from the pavement. On the way back down, just a few feet, I manage to catch one foot in a loop of bramble, which sends me diving forwards down onto the pavement. My left hand smacks into the gravel, scraping away a layer of skin, and the blood starts to gush out. Again. What is it with me? It was my right hand last time, so at least I’m sort of even now I guess. I spend a few minutes sat on the pavement with my first aid kit, wiping the grit out of the grazes and feeling sorry for myself. I don’t have a plaster big enough to cover the area, so just wipe Savlon over it, that’s all I can do for the moment. That reminds me to look something up that I’ve been wondering about for years…

What is the difference between Savlon and Germolene?

Apart from the fact Germolene smells like it’s doing more good, apparently it’s local anaesthetic. Germolene has it, Savlon doesn’t. I need to find less painful reminders to look things up.

As is my habit, here are some wildflowers spotted on the way, several are new to me and get added to my collection.

One of the reasons I particularly wanted to walk along the A75 (rather than over the top of the mountain as some coastal walkers decided) was the views over the water. Much of the road has no pavement so is quite dangerous, what with all the fast lorries and cars heading for Cairnryan and Northern Ireland. But when there is a pavement, I get the opportunity to see the wide River Cree and Wigtown Bay in all its glory.

But the pavement ends here, at the turn-off to Creetown, so I divert inland into the village.

Rather than follow the main road into the village, I take a road off to the left which becomes a path and leads to the bottom of Harbour Street. My reason for this is to see if there is any evidence of the old Creetown Harbour, as shown in this picture…

…there’s not.

Creetown was originally called ‘Ferrytown of Cree’ because ferries used to cross the River Cree here, right back to the days when pilgrims made their way to the shrine of St Ninian at Whithorn. Small trading ships continued to come up to the village until the early 20th century.
Now there’s a caravan park where the harbour used to be. Such is progress 🙄.

I walk up Harbour Street, and turn left onto St John Street, the main route through the village. There’s not much here to be honest, it’s only a small village. At the northern end is the old clock tower.

I was told it has a beautiful carved door at the bottom of the tower…

You can see it here if you really want to. Creetown’s other major attraction is a big stone ball…

I leave the village by the bridge high over the Moneypool Burn and in a few hundred yards pass the Whisky Broker premises which welcomes visitors. When it’s open. Which it isn’t.

The road climbs steadily uphill, past the Black and White Lamb Show (politically respectable in 2026) with fine views over the River Cree now far below.

On the descent down to rejoin the modern A75, a path on the right leads off to what was the Portpatrick and Wigtownshire Joint Railway. So I follow it.

After a severe climb, the route flattens out, with wonderful views over the Cree basin.

Time for a selfie…

As this was a railway line, it almost guarantees no steep inclines, which I like very much. At a place called “Blair’s House” the old viaduct has mostly disappeared, and the path dips down into the valley and back up.

This path – in fact the whole route since Creetown village – is part of National Cycle Network Route 7, and boasts some delightfully extravagant mileposts.

I’ve got company…

Hello Robin.

In 2015 there was a vote, and the robin was selected as our National Bird, lovely. However, I read the other day that if they were the size of humans, robins would be one of our most fearsome predators. They are particularly aggressive, and will even kill each other, pecking at rivals’ napes to sever their spinal cords; 10% of all adult robin deaths are “red-on-red”. They also launch unprovoked attacks on other species, lashing out with razor-sharp claws.

**** off Robin.

The path runs dead straight, through a cutting with water seeping from the rock, nourishing numerous ferns and water plants, and even primroses.

After 2 miles of the old railway line, at Graddoch Bridge, the path ends where a viaduct has been partially dismantled, and the route now joins a lane heading due north.

I have to admit, rather shamefully, that I find walking along country lanes on my own a bit boring. They’re OK for a bit, but then they become tedious, especially if there are no nice views. This one doesn’t have nice views. I can’t see the river anymore. I can’t see any mountains. And it goes on and on and on, and I’m getting a bit tired now. And irritable. I guess walking alongside a dual carriageway like I did between Preston And Warton may be worse, but somehow for me it wasn’t.

I turn left over the nice Old Bridge Of Palnure, then over a crossroads, and the lane suddenly heads steeply uphill. I realise there are things worse than a boring country lane… a steep uphill boring country lane.

Oh well, at least it’ll be downhill afterwards. I don’t mind downhill so much….

…but not when it’s this steep.

My old knees can’t take steep downhills anymore. My tendons feel like they’re about to snap, so I try walking backwards. That doesn’t help much, it just makes me look like a bit of a loon.

Finally at the bottom with my knees shot to pieces, and resembling someone from the Ministry of Silly Walks, I rejoin the A75 where thankfully there is a footpath, and another big fancy milestone showing just 1½ miles now to my destination.

The walk into town is mostly flat, along the pavement aside the New Galloway Road. Patches of Lady’s Smock decorate the verges. I would normally enjoy this, but all I can do is trudge on thinking about getting to the end.

In the tranquil fields just to my left, now filled with dandelions and oilseed rape, the Battle of Kirroughtree took place in 1308 during the First War of Scottish Independence in which Edward Bruce (younger brother of Robert The) defeated a significantly larger English-led army.

Finally I get to Minnigaff, which is really a suburb of Newton Stewart, but it’s on the east of the River Cree, and therefore traditionally in Kirkcudbrightshire, whereas Newton Stewart is west of the river and in Wigtownshire. These days they’re both in Dumfries & Galloway, but I wouldn’t say that to a Minnigaffer. Try telling someone from Salford they’re Mancunian… actually don’t.

On the right is the tiny old toll house. It was built in 1813 at the same time as the bridge (replacing the previous 1745 bridge). It was on a pilgrimage to the shrine of St Ninian at Whithorn in 1329 that Robert The (older brother of Edward Bruce) forded the river at this point. He didn’t have to pay a toll. Another example of Bobby Bruce’s “one rule for the rich etc” to add to his arson in Abbeytown.

Turning left after the bridge I enter Victoria Street, the main thoroughfare through Newton Stewart. The “New Town of Stewart” was founded in the mid-17th century by William Stewart, fourth and youngest son of the 2nd Earl of Galloway. In 1778 the industrialist Sir William Douglas established cotton mills in Newton Stewart and renamed the town “Newton Douglas” in his honour, after also naming Castle Douglas after himself. Bloody narcissist. The locals didn’t like that very much and promptly renamed it back to Newton Stewart.

Victoria Street hosts the quaint old town hall which was built about 1800.

Turning left just after that takes me to the banks of the River Cree, and a heron who has just finished eating an eel.

My car is parked in the free municipal car park next to the river – that’s a rarity these days. I collapse into it, and drive the (very) short distance back to my B&B, where I collapse onto the bed for an hour. I’m knackered!

---

I’ve realised in hindsight, there’s a better route after the path along the old railway line. Where I took the (boring) country lane at Graddoch Bridge, which then went over the hill (much to my dismay at the time), there is a route which involves mostly tracks, lanes, and some paths across fields following the old railway line. It involves only ¼ mile of the A75, along which there is a wide grassy verge at this point, so not too dangerous. This route is much closer to the coast. OK, there are still some boring country lanes but they don’t go up hills! Click on it to investigate further:

I really wish I’d done that.

---

This walk was completed on Saturday 2nd May 2026, and was about 11½ miles long. Here’s the annotated map:

And here’s the real-time recorded map of my route, which you can pan and zoom around: