I woke up to rain.
It had been predicted but still annoying. I had planned to drive down to the Mull of Galloway – a recommendation from Eldest Daughter – but didn’t fancy spending the day in possible mist and low cloud and not see anything.. There again, did I want to hang around in the campsite all in day in drizzly rain? So after a bit of mulling and definitely deciding that staying at the campsite would drive me insane, I started the chore of packing up the Van and suddenly realised that the sun was poking its head out. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad after all.
When you look on a map of this area, the land west of Stranraer looks like the head of a Hammerhead shark and it was at the bottom of this that we were heading. The Dog and I headed out towards the town centre, briefly popping into a Morrisons for milk for a cuppa and a couple of other bits. We followed the A716 to Drummore, some 18 miles south. It was a lovely drive in the sun past pastures, fields, little hamlets, woodlands – it was ever changing. Just past the village of Ardwell was a picnic area and I instinctively pulled in as now we were starting to hug the coastline. I was after a decent beach for The Dog. A big sign said “No Overnight Camping” but the few campervans and tents had evidently ignored that. The beach was muddy and didn’t really inspire, though it was a pretty little bay, so we turned around and carried on.
The scenery was stunning. We were now overlooking the Luce Bay, a fantastic arch of land and sea. We pulled into another parking area, but although pretty with a woodland backdrop, the beach wasn’t a sandy beach – to be honest, I didn’t want to get clagged with mud and it being traipsed into the Van. We carried on passing little hamlets which were very pretty – a lot of the traditional crofter style cottages, painted white. This was a lovely drive.
We dropped into Drummore, following a sign that said beach, The Dog getting giddy as she could smell the sea air. We drove past the small harbour and along a narrow road, past cottages and bungalows facing out to sea. It ended on a tiny straggly piece of grass which already had a car on it. Perhaps I was being fussy here, but again it wasn’t ticking my box for some reason. So we turned tail, much to The Dog’s disappointment and retraced our steps back to the High Street. Drummore was a charming little community, again with that lovely mixture of cottages and houses, painted or just left in stone. Apart from a shop, there wasn’t much else and by now we weren’t far from the Mull of Galloway. So we nosed our way out of Drummore and was directed down a single track road with passing places (the signpost said for 4 miles – I just hoped I didn’t meet anyone coming back, I was in the Van after all). As we turned into the lane, we could see the lighthouse on the Mull in the hazy distance. The scenery was now more exposed – fields and the odd bent tree. We were on top of a headland with hardy sheep and cattle. There wasn’t much there at all. At one point, we could see the sea on either side of us as the land narrowed. We had met no other vehicles and we felt we were the only ones on this isolated landscape.
https://mull-of-galloway.co.uk/
Finally the car park hoved into view as we passed a grass roofed visitor centre. There was about six other vehicles parked up and as I turned the engine off, the wind rocked the Van. The sunshine had disappeared and a huge blanket of cloud, as far as the eye could see, covered us. Looking back up the coast, it was actually quite low and misty. Perhaps we had the best of the day.
I watched two people being whipped by the wind, their coats flapping furiously. There was nothing to stop it, so I donned my waterproof to keep warm and in case it rained. We jumped out of the Van and went off to explore. We went through a gate and decided to follow the sign that said “circular path to Lighthouse”, which took us along a mown pathway between stubby grassland where ground nesting birds fluttered against the wind. We came up to the RSPB building, a low slung building painted white, which was shut, so we peered through the windows instead. Another sign pointed us down another grassy path and the very southern point and the very edge of Scotland. It hadn’t been on my bucket list to stand on Scotland’s most southerly point, but here I was with my hound and we looked at each other. I gave her a congratulatory pat, and walked a few more feet south to peer over a sheer drop. Perhaps we would stop here, it was southerly enough for us and anyway we were getting a bit fed up being battered by the relentless wind. It was quite humid too, so with my waterproof on, I felt quite warm, but knew if I took it off I would feel chilly. Couldn’t win. We turned around and plodded back up the hill with the Lighthouse peering down on us, hoping to get some respite. However, we got distracted by another sign, pointing down a path, declaring “Path to Foghorn”, so off I set, dragging The Dog behind me, her eyes rolling.
The path turned into a steep stone stairway with the huge dark red foghorn at the bottom, pointing out to sea. As the amber light wasn’t on (it wasn’t foggy enough to have to blast at passing ships) we could go down right up to it. We passed two large gas tanks (presumably to supply it with gas to work) and walked underneath the horn. It was huge and could be cranked to face in different directions. It was perched on the edge of a cliff (how someone had built that there, goodness knows) where seabirds nested on perilous crags, as waves crashed against the rocks way below. This was unforgiving and raw. It was amazing – the power of the sea, the foghorn ready to warn of danger, the inaccessible cliffs and the swirling birds gave it a real atmosphere and a feeling of awe. Again, you felt you were the only person there. Just you and nature.
The Dog was itching to get back, so we pulled ourselves back up the steps and followed the garden wall of the lighthouse, apparently featured in the film The Vanishing/Keepers, starring Gerard Butler. The surrounding outbuildings of the lighthouse house an exhibition, but we couldn’t go in as I had The Dog. The lighthouse itself was closed too. So we pleased ourselves looking at the huge stunning photographs pinned on the wall surrounding the lighthouse by some wonderful photographers. They were stunning and I spent many minutes studying them.
Unable to go in the lighthouse, we walked to the viewpoint and checked out some other paths (all circular to the lighthouse), coming across various views and looking at the Lighthouse at different angles. It must of been a very lonely spot to live and work, but very very special. I was glad I had come and quietly thanked Eldest Daughter for her recommendation.
Desperate to escape the wind and fancying a coffee and possibly a large slab of cake, we headed down the road to the Visitor Centre. It declared itself to be opened six days a week, but evidently Fridays weren’t one of them. It was firmly shut. I thought Friday would of been one of your best trading days but I was wrong. Anyway it didn’t allow dogs in either though they did have an outdoor seating area which was perched on a balcony, so you could peer down the cliffs as you supped your cappuccino. I would of liked to have done that actually, but on this overcast, windy Friday I just had to be content at peering over the barrier to the sea crashing against the rocks far below.
Having exhausted Mull of Galloway and fed up being battered by the wind, we jumped back into the Van and decided to wheedle back. Halfway along the single track road, there was a little bay with a sandy beach. Yes, The Dog deserved a treat after being dragged around by me! A quick U turn and to my dismay, as I committed myself, realised that it was a rather rocky track down. Halfway down, I also realised that the field below and where the Van would be parked, was full of cows and their calves. Vehicles and tents were down there already but I didn’t fancy coming back to find a cow satisfying an itchy ear against my Van’s door. So we did another U turn and The Dog settled back on her mat in disappointment. We weren’t doing well on beaches.
We drove back to Drummore where I kept seeing signs for Port Logan. It piqued my interest – what was there? Checking on Google Maps it was on the opposite coast overlooking the Irish Sea but just some three miles away and it looked like it had a sandy beach. So with some confidence, we headed down more narrow roads and dropped into the tiny hamlet of Port Logan, hugging the most perfect sweeping bay of sand. Oh yes! We excitedly parked up right on the edge of the sand and jumped out! The Dog was ecstatic, her face delighted. Finally her human had found a beach at long last! She loved it and chased stones into the sea, frolicking in the waves. We walked right round until we could go no further and turned around and retraced our steps. Back at the car park, we checked out the stone harbour wall with a disused tower and wandered the single village road. Feeling peckish, I made some lunch and perched on the side step, sharing bits of cheese with The Dog. We had a great view of the bay and were feeling quite contented, when a large campervan pulled up in front of us, blocking our view! Oh for goodness sake! Luckily the occupants quickly realised, and with a mouthed “sorry” pulled up a little further along (not far enough in my book, but hey ho). Blow me, 5 minutes later, a huge motorhome rocked up on our right and completely obliterated most of our view. There was a whole expanse of car park here and they sit right on top of you. I was also slightly peeved as up to that point, I had the whole car park to myself, so I wasn’t a happy bunny. Perhaps it was time to go.
https://scotlandstartshere.com/point-of-interest/port-logan/
We rejoined the A716 and I stopped briefly to check out a campsite as it had looked spectacular as we passed it earlier – on the edge of a sweeping bay bathed in the sunshine. Now under leaden skies, it didn’t look so alluring and anyway it was a Camping and Motorhome Club site and guess who are not members……
https://scotlandstartshere.com/point-of-interest/sandhead/
So we headed to Sandhead, a place we’ve been before and has the best beach around, miles of it, a doggy paradise and very beautiful. We parked up and walked along the beach together – we walked so far until The Dog decided to head off, indicating she wanted to go back – why do I let my hound make all the decisions? Back at the Van, I made a cuppa and sat, out of the howling wind, watching the world and ended up chatting to a lady. She was Scottish and was telling me of other places to visit. She had a really lovely accent, but the way she pronounced these place names, sounded like she was bringing up fur balls. I didn’t recognise any of the place names and didn’t have a clue where they were, so I just nodded and made the right noises and hoped I was convincing.
With black clouds appearing on the horizon, we trundled back to the campsite and quickly set up the Van again before it rained. It was feeling humid and damp, but we had managed to escape the rain and got the best out of the day. I was pleased that we did what we did. The Dog was happy to snooze on her mat and I watched newcomers come into the campsite and set up. Hubby was due back from Belfast late tonight. It had been a lovely day of exploring and seeing some beautiful countryside. Tomorrow we would head back home.
(Hubby appeared at the Van door at 12:30am after some ferry issues – namely the ramp unable to be lowered).
apathtosomewhere 