TWO GO MAD IN STRANRAER

In last month’s issue (How it all began) I talked about how Muddy Madam and I bought our first vehicle together, a 1974 2-door Range Rover, and we were learning quite quickly that old Range Rovers weren’t the cheapest 4x4s to own.

Anyhow, not long after we almost got ourselves stranded in deep snow up Wrynose Pass in the Lake District, we decided upon another short break to recover from that one.

It was still 1995, and Stranraer in Scotland would be our destination of choice, and to this day I’m not sure why. Anyhow, Friday was booked off from work, necessities packed and we headed north. We stopped once for fuel, and the usual supplies of chocolate, crisps, more chocolate and cans of pop.

The going was good until we reached Cumbria where the weather turned nasty - usual weather conditions for the Lake District that early on in the year, I suppose. We turned left at Carlisle onto the A75 and headed towards Stranraer, and apart from the rain, that seemed to be getting heavier, and getting stuck behind dozens of lorries, the journey was pretty good and stress free. This was the furthest we’d taken in BVU, and we were very impressed with how quiet and composed she was for a 21 year old Rangie.

Once in Stranraer it didn't take us long to find an reasonable guest house that accepted Rangies - but we had to leave her outside. " The rules" said the landlady.

By this time it was late and dark, and we were tired and hungry. We found a little Italian restaurant almost next door to where we were staying, and promptly stuffed our faces with some excellent food and drank lots of wine. Satisfied, we retired to our small, but clean room. It was still raining, heavily.

We awoke around 8.30am just in time for breakfast, and after filling our bellies and a good shower, we opened the O.S.Map that I’d bought the previous night, and for some peculiar reason we decided to to go castle hunting.

The nearest one was Lochnaw Castle, and it was only about fifteen minutes away. Just off the main road, up a dirt track, through a farm yard and a section of forest and there it was......not exactly what we expected, it looked like a huge residential home built on the side of a Loch. Very picturesque, but no ruin. On our way back to the main road I spotted a deeply rutted track that disappeared off into the thick foliage of the forest, it looked very tempting, but not knowing if it was a legal Right of Way or not, we decided not to venture.

This was back in 1995, three years before the birth of Google, and I didn’t own a computer, so information back then on green lanes was reliant on the 4x4 magazines of the day, and therefore a bit sketchy at best!

Back on the main road we decided that Port Patrick looked ideal for our next overnight stay, and even better it had a castle! As we were cruising along the B738, Muddy Madam spotted a sign for a lighthouse, Killantringan Lighthouse in fact. You don't see many of those in Bolton, so we turned right onto a single track road that took us 1¼ miles down the steepest road I have ever driven.

Once there, we checked it out, took a few photos and carried on towards our next ‘port’ of call.

See what I did there? Port Patrick? Port of call? Oh’ never mind.

Port Patrick is a lovely little place, from what I can remember. It had a few shops, a few pubs, a large hotel and quite a few guest houses. After parking up on the front, we set off on foot to find our second castle.

Dunskey Castle is a ruined, 12th century tower house/castle that’s perched on cliffs with the Irish sea crashing below, it was an eerie place to be. I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like many hundreds of years ago to live in such a place, give me double glazing and central heating any day!

Back to BVU, and after we had found dwellings for the night in a Guest House on North Cres, overlooking the harbour, we figured we had at least three hours of daylight left, so out came the O.S. map, and exploring we went.

Muddy Madam was getting better at map reading and navigating, and BVU and I got used to sudden braking and sharp turns as she shouted out directions like, ”Stop! Turn left! I mean right. Sorry, straight on.” (I dispute Damian's

recollections of this - love Muddy Madam)

Many tracks and farm yards were driven on, and BVU was looking like we had just been on a hill rally. It was beginning to get dark, so we parked on the beach at Ardwell and munched on some chocolate bars. True romance!

We found a petrol station 200 yards further down the road that had an almost identical white Range Rover with black vinyl roof parked outside. The owner had done over 200,000 miles in it using two V8s, and told me that he’d recently fitted a big Nissan diesel. Goodbye 15mpg, hello 42mpg. I wasn't jealous.... much.

We headed back to Port Patrick via a visit to the Kirkmadrine Stones (ancient stone pillars housed in glassfronted porch at the west end of Kirkmadrine Church in the Rhins of Galloway)W. Once there we freshened up, got changed and went out for food and plenty of Guinness. Unfortunately I don't remember much of that evening..... must’ve been the food.

I woke up suddenly at 8.55am with an elbow in the ribs as Muddy Madam was shouting that we were late for breakfast, so after throwing on some clothes, we ran downstairs to be fed. We needn't of worried because five minutes later another couple wandered down looking in a similar state to us...rough!

After another hearty breakfast and refreshing shower, we studied the map searching for more interesting places to visit. We decided to visit the Mull of Galloway, which is the southern most point of Stranraer.

The sky was dark as we loaded BVU, there was a thick blanket of cloud that threatened rain, but the strong wind soon cleared it and we were treated to a beautiful clear blue sky, and Muddy Madam's advance warnings of things like turnings, junctions and cliff edges were also getting clearer.

We reached the Mull which consisted of a car park, a light house and a spectacular view, so we left BVU and went for a short walk to take some photographs. From there we headed for Port Logan which is a bit smaller than Port Patrick, but just as pretty. Then to the A75, M6, and the mundane drive home.

I worked out than we drove 500 miles and spent around £65 on petrol (1995 don’t forget), and although at the time BVU was 21 years old, she was an utter joy to drive.