By Irvine Butterfield

For further information see the Walkingwild website at: www.walkingwild.co.uk.

The morning was warm with a hint of a sun trying to break through the coverlet of grey cloud. What to do? Risk The Merrick in the hope of grabbing those elusive pictures denied the afternoon before, or try an alternative coastal walk? Standing at the wall beside the Cree in the middle of Newton Stewart there wasn't a breath of wind - the haze continued to hang like a pall of smoke over the hills. It was the local street cleaner who suggested that I might take a turn down the coast to a small village called Garlieston and try the walk along the bay and cliffs to the ruin of Cruggleton Castle.

The village it seemed had played a big part in the Normandy landings in the Second World War, now recorded by a commemorative stone beside the village hall, and pictorially on the gable of the hall, at the harbour wall. A disused grain depot and silos at the pier head had also served as the Wigton Bay Trading Post, a thriving enterprise where it was said folks came from far and near to buy just about anything from a pair of socks to a ship's anchor. Now the gaunt brick building seems destined to pass into folk memory, as did the "Mulberry Harbour" which once stretched across the mud flats before it.

To the right of one of the abandoned buildings a couple came through an open gateway on return to a camper van. Offer of a cup of tea was welcomed and in conversation they enthused about the beauty of the area and urged me to try the walk around by Minnigaff church with its trees and bird life. They came regularly as they found the pace of life unhurried and relaxing. The forest walks were ideal for older people and those with families appreciated the signposting and information given, as I had discovered on a short visit to the Glentrool area the previous day.

Talk turned to the foot and mouth crisis and how it was good to see that Galloway's farms where being supported by use of their produce in hotels and catering establishments. As a rule I am not one for a cooked breakfast but could enthuse about the pork sausage, bacon and eggs from local suppliers. Good local beef and vegetables - carrots that tasted like carrots - were also the subject of favourable comment. The readiness to chat and help visitors was also appreciated and was, we agreed, very reminiscent of the unhurried Scotland of the 60's.

Passing through the gateway I found a track along the shoreline bounding the policies of a large country house, once the home of the Earls of Galloway. This proved to be a popular walk to Rigg Bay and I met several people with youngsters out for a short stroll. I dallied more than once to pass the time of day, before I turned the corner onto the strand of the bay. On the sand two infants were contentedly playing with sticks, poking into small pools left by the receding tide. A lady at a picnic table close by was pleased to find that her infants had found an interesting alternative to the electronic fascination of play stations. Lots of interest for beachcombers too as there was an abundance of flotsam and jetsam cast up by the high February tides which had burst over the low retaining dyke beside the path.

At the head of the bay the track faded to a path which here juggled through stands of young saplings on the gradual lift to storm-twisted trees marking the bounds of the woods. The path emerged on to the cliff top at an old iron gate beside a derelict lodge from where, looking ahead, I could see the distant bow of a ruined arch atop the grass grown rubble of the castle. Haze prevented sight of the Lakeland hills, which, during conversation later in the day were likened to icebergs when seen under snow on a clear winter's day.

The castle had obviously been well sited above a great plunge of cliff with a landward clamber to reach the mound on which it stood. Sea birds wheeled and called, their cries drifting on a slight breeze which softened the warmth of an obscure sun. Along the coast rocky coves conjured up tales of the smuggling days when contraband was landed in these parts from the Isle of Man. Nowadays a few lobsters boats ply the waters and I met a couple of the fisherman out gathering bait for their pots as I returned by the bay's shore.

My one recollection of Galloway was of some thirty years earlier when I had been one of the team who had resurrected the old cottage at White Laggan to provide a bothy. It was thus that I found myself taking the track from Craigencallie on another low-level walk through the forests about Loch Dee. The track in part lies on a section of the Southern Upland Way, which hereabouts skirts the flanks of Curleywee. For those heading out of the head of Glen Trool a pleasant day's walk could be had by taking the route as far as the bothy with a return over Curleywee after lunch. Goats called from the heights behind the bothy and two lads ensconced in the shelter said that the previous evening one had ventured to the hut in search of tit-bits. Those disinclined to venture into the hills have the easier option of a closer view at the Wild Goat Park beside the road near Murray's Monument west of Clatteringshaw's Loch on the A712.

Galloway's hills are dominated by Merrick, which is most easily ascended from a parking stance near The Bruce Stone in Glen Trool. A sign marks the start of the path, which climbs beside the tumbles of the Buchan Burn to the ruins of Culsharg. The climb continues through the forest and turning across Benyellary runs along a ridge with the curious name of Neive of the Spit. Ahead lies the final clamber to the flattened crown of Merrick. On a clear day it is possible to see mountains as far away as Cruachan, and Ben Lawers to the north, and Broad Law to the east. The southern compass takes in Scafell Pike and Snaefell on the Isle of Man, and more westerly the peak of Slieve Donard in the Mournes in Ireland.

At the mountain's foot Loch Enoch lies central to encircling ridges of bare-boned hills. The loch is one of several which make up a jigsaw of watery hollows, and bleak upland ridges. One path pushes into this wild sanctuary to provide a glimpse of its awesome and lonely moors. Access is from the southern portal of Glen Trool on a gradual climb from the roadhead around the southern flank of Buchan Hill (sign: Loch Valley). The path then follows the cut of the Gairland Burn which issues from Loch Valley, its less distinct and heathery rut continuing to Loch Neldricken and its celebrated Murder Hole.

The other main drain of these hills is the Dee which starts life as the Cooran Lane. This separates the craggy western fringes of Mullwhachar and Dungeon Hill from the broad sweep of Corserine, highest point of the Rhinns of Kells. This lengthy range is guarded by an immense forest of such presence that it is not uncommon to hear comment that suggests Galloway is all trees. This has never been a deterrent to those familiar with Harvey Maps who welcome a cartography which shows the various fire-breaks from the valley to the upper slopes. This too was bothy country and saw the birth of the Mountain Bothies Association as a result of a comment in the visitors book at Backhill of Bush. Judicious use of the Bothies meant that it was possible to cover all the principal hills in a long cross country trek of several days duration. Sadly I was to learn from the occupants of White Laggan that "Backhill of Bush is now trashed", despite the generous provision of a wood burning stove and a plentiful supply of fuel courtesy of Forest Enterprise.

The isolated hump of Cairnsmore of Carsphairn is also much bedecked in trees to north and south but a track to the lower slopes above the Green Well of Scotland eases access to broad open slopes on the shoulder of Dunool with ever widening views on the pull across Black Shoulder to the summit plain.The bulk of Cairnsmore of Fleet is cast in similar mould, placed to advantage above the estuary of the Cree with wide southern panoramas to the Lake District hills beyond the Solway.

The abiding memory of Galloway is of a country little changed, and whether you be back-packer, hill walker or look for less strenuous strolls there is much on offer. History is ever present with stirring tales of Bruce and the fight for Scottish independence - another first for Galloway. After the devastating impact of last foot and mouth disease those who love the area are coming back and encouraging friends to seek the "world apart" that is Galloway.

Encouraged by the success of walking festivals elsewhere, the idea has been taken up by Langholm which sits on the eastern bounds of the Dumfries and Galloway Tourist Board area. Later this year Annan hoping to host their own festival (dates to be confirmed), and in early October Moffat's efforts may see successful outings to the local Corbetts of Hart Fell and White Coomb. Walkers are introduced to an area by people keen to extol the attractions of their locality and are a pleasant and informative way of assisting rural economies. Galloway has an ideal centre in Newton Stewart and has yet to participate in such ventures. Once visited it becomes obvious why its attractions thus far appear to be a well kept secret.