We leave our cheerful Airbnb and march out into the pelting squall which we have woken up to. This is definately a moment to fully appreciate our expensive Gore-Tex waterproof jackets and trousers. I feel Jennie doesn't appreciate this quite as much as she could. Hundreds of oystercatchers on the beach. Rain bothers them little. It unexpectedly bursts into another beautiful sunny day as we approach the ruins of Dunure castle. We learn that inside the castle in 1570, the owner Gilbert, 4th Earl of Cassilis, tied the administrator of a local abbey to a spit and roasted him over an open fire to try and extort land from him. Such gruesome discoveries contrast somewhat with our stroll down to Dunure's pretty wee harbour where we sit and watch a fisherman unloading lobster. We actually saw him sailing out this morning, and before we move on he's out to sea again. Past Dunure it's all very pleasant walking in sunshine over the low cliffs and down along the coast with the sizeable settlements of Alloway and Ayr becoming visible ahead of us. We have our final glimpse of Ailsa Craig as it is replaced by the phenomenal sweep of the Isle of Arran, our new companion for the next stretch of coastline. We are by now boiling hot and grateful to have brought caps to keep the sun off our heads. Hard to believe it is the same day we woke up to. Ah, the life of a rambler. Pass another picturesque ruin of Greenan Castle, we have a choice of two options to reach Alloway. Our feet are tired so we choose as Jennie puts it "whichever will get us there quicker", so we leave the coast and follow an old railway line. Besides, who can resist a sign saying "Burns Cottage Detour." Although this detour happens to be a planned one, to the birthplace of the man himself. We have booked a luxury stay for 2 nights in Alloway as it is our wedding anniversary tomorrow and we are going to spend it with a "rest day" doing everything 'Robert Burns' we can think of. We enjoy a decent pint of IPA at the Brig O' Doon hotel in the pictoral company of "the ploughboy poet", looking more dandy than ploughboy, as well as, curiously, a plate bearing the face of Charles Dickens. (I'm sure Dickens never left London, but perhaps there's some connection).
It's easy to forget about birds with all this drama going on. Yeah, we are slacking on the recording front but we do remember a male stonechat, oystercatchers, swans again (they love that seaweed), turnstones, kittiwakes, and lots of gulls.
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