ARRAN - Scotland in miniature

Thursday 27th May 1993 - Day 1

I woke early, having lain awake late into the night wondering if this was really such a good idea. I had always anticipated last-minute nerves, but knew that I'd be carried along by events once I was on my way. It was a dreadful morning with rain pouring down as I left Melton station around 7.40am. When I had to change to the InterCity train at Peterborough, I realised for the first time just how heavy my holdall and rucksack are, but I suppose I'll get used to carrying them after a while. The train took me north through York, Darlington and Newcastle to Edinburgh where I managed to glimpse the back of the Castle. As we travelled across country, eventually a few rays of sunshine broke through the clouds.

The train was a little early arriving in Glasgow, which gave me even longer to wait for my connection. I didn't move far once I'd found somewhere to sit down - surrounded by pigeons, some ominously perched above my head. I watched all the people waiting for trains or waiting for other people and kept an eye out for Ardrossan to come up on the scoreboard. It was finally displayed just minutes before the departure time, which made it a real rush for me to trundle over to the platform. Having waited over an hour, I suddenly feared I might miss it.

With stops at every station down the line, it turned out to be something of a commuter route through the suburbs. Not very scenic, but at least I could see blue skies as we neared the coast. Rainy Melton already seemed a long way away and by the time I reached Ardrossan harbour, the weather was perfectly sunny.

The end of the line looked more like a construction site than a railway station. Thinking I was late, I rushed into the terminal building and went straight up to the desk to buy Island Hopscotch ticket No. 17 for my first two journeys. I soon found out that the ferry had been delayed due to strong winds this morning and had never managed to get back on schedule.

In the waiting room some bright spark had pinned up photos of various exotic locations with captions relating to Arran. "Brodick harbour" was in fact the Sydney Opera House, with Hawaii 5-0 style canoes illustrating the local water sports, buffalo labelled as Highland cattle and a picture of "local craftsmen" standing outside what looked like a Masai warrior's hut.

Once the ferry had docked, everyone shot out and rushed up the gangway. We finally set off on the fifty-five-minute crossing at 3.40pm instead of 3.15pm. Not that the time mattered at this stage of my journey. I sat next to the bridge on the starboard side, hoping for a good view of the island. Towards Arran it turned out to be very grey and rather hazy for filming. On the left I could just make out what must have been Holy Island sitting off the coast. Conditions didn't improve as we approached, yet looking back over to the mainland, I saw that the sun was still shining down on Ardrossan.

As we neared the harbour, I spotted the red sandstone of Brodick Castle nestling in dark trees at the foot of Goatfell mountain which stands 874 metres high. This was my first sight of some of the things I'd read about and seen in the guide books. I'd imagined this moment many times over the past months, referring to it as my triumphant arrival on Arran.

The town itself appeared to be strung out around the bay, so I didn't fancy walking all the way to my accommodation with my luggage. Once on dry land and past a long queue of day-trippers going back to the mainland, I saw a row of buses waiting for passengers off the ferry. I asked the first driver how I could get to the Anchor Hotel which I knew to be near my B+B from the map sent by the landlady. He said it was on his route, so I jumped on and we drove straight off. It was like being chauffeur-driven in my own personal minibus. He dropped me almost at the door and I immediately recognised the house from the picture in the brochure. In the colourful front garden was planted a signboard, complete with non-smoking symbol, confirming that it was indeed Greenways.

Mrs. Yates was very welcoming and told me that I'd been lucky with the ferry as yesterday the wind was so bad, it hadn't been able to leave Ardrossan. Apparently I have the place to myself tonight as the two double rooms are unoccupied. My room is small, but adequate and even has a television, although reception isn't very good - and I haven't even reached "the wilds" yet. The window overlooks the hotel next door which has an ancient bus in the front garden for reasons I have yet to discover. Over the hotel roof I can see the tip of Goatfell and then Brodick Castle in the distance. On the other side of this road a long golf course stretches down beside the beach.

Once I had settled in, I walked back along the main street where I had come on the bus. There were a few shops which I shall investigate tomorrow perhaps, but more guest houses and hotels than anything else. I went down to the pier and bought myself some fish and chips, then sat on the harbour wall in the early evening sunshine, listening to the sea lapping away at the rocks. I wanted to savour the moment. It was exactly what I've been waiting for all these months.

Friday 28th May 1993 - Day 2

This morning I had toast and marmalade for breakfast sitting in the front room all by myself - except for one of the cats that is. Once I had packed my rucksack with the camcorder, waterproofs, binoculars and water bottles, I walked over to Brodick Castle. It was about one and a half miles, part road and part footpath. I reached a pedestrian entrance and went up into the gardens. After a few twists and turns along paths leading through the undergrowth, I came across the "Ice House" where they used to pack ice in the winter in some sort of hole in the ground and then store it ready for the summer months. Further along I found a hexagonal wooden structure called the Bavarian Summer House, built in 1845. A seat ran around the interior which was decorated with elaborate arrangements of cones, recently restored by pupils from the Priory Girls' School in the Isle of Wight.

Later, sitting on one of the many benches in the gardens, next to a pretty lily pond, I watched a robin in front of me. Suddenly an RAF jet roared just above the tree tops and headed out over the sea. Apart from that, it was a most peaceful place where I hardly saw a soul and could easily have become lost in the maze of overgrown paths. Even though the sky remained overcast, the garden flora shone in a patchwork of yellows, oranges, reds and blues. Nowhere have I ever seen so many rhododendrons.

Parts of the present castle date from the thirteenth century, although the site has been occupied by a stronghold of some kind since the fifth century, when an ancient Irish tribe came over and founded the kingdom of Dalriada. Originally the home of the Dukes of Hamilton, it is now owned by the National Trust for Scotland. Although it is open to the public, I thought I would leave myself the chance to visit it another day in case the rain comes and I'm stuck for something to do.

For lunch, I went into the restaurant and bought myself a tuna and cucumber sandwich, together with a slice of iced cake. Someone was eating giant Yorkshire puddings which were filled with a sort of hotpot, including peas and potatoes with the skins on. There hardly seemed enough room for it all on the plate.

Afterwards, I went along a trail behind the castle. Not the one leading up Goatfell mountain, which a group of American girls asked me about, but a road on the estate overlooking Brodick Bay. I followed one of the tracks and saw a small waterfall at Crocan burn. Unfortunately, I didn't get as far as the intriguingly signposted "Duchesses' Bathing Pool".

Just as I reached the castle, it started to rain, so I decided to return to the B+B. Halfway along the footpath, a middle-aged American couple asked me if it was the right route back to the ferry. They'd come for the day and only had thirty minutes before the boat left. After a few reassuring words from me, they sped off into the distance. It made me wonder how they'd got to the castle in the first place, if they didn't know how to get back.

In my room at the B+B, Mrs. Yates had kindly left some packets of juice next to all the sachets of tea and coffee, after I'd mentioned that I don't like hot drinks. She seems a homely sort of woman, from south of the border judging by her accent. Before I went out again, she gave me the front door key, explaining that she had rehearsals for The Mikado this evening. Then she showed me her knitwear workshop in the back room. I had in fact noticed a sign in the garden saying "Fell Designs" which points around the side of the house. This turned out to be where she makes and displays all her various creations. There were a few jumpers hanging up and some things that she was still working on. She obviously spends more time on it during the winter when there are less tourists seeking accommodation.

Once it had stopped raining, I walked over to the Tourist Information Centre where I bought some postcards and picked up all the free leaflets I could find. On the way back, I stopped at the Ormidale Hotel, well known for its bar meals, and ordered home-made cheese and onion quiche with salad and chips, which was served in their large greenhouse. Mrs. Yates was already back when I returned, but she told me to keep the key, as the show is opening tomorrow and the friend that she has asked to stay to look after the house in the evening won't be arriving until Monday.

Saturday 29th May 1993 - Day 3

It started off quite bright this morning with some blue sky at last. I walked down to the pier to catch the 10.45am northern circular bus. Needless to say, it didn't leave on time, since it had to wait for all the passengers to come off the ferry. The route took us past my B+B, the heritage museum on the outskirts of town and then the entrance to Brodick Castle. A bit further along from there, I saw a few seals perched precariously on the rocks, together with a heron standing absolutely still. The road continues to hug the coast, passing through the whitewashed villages of Corrie and Sannox, before going up and up into the hills. I never thought the old bus would make it to the top - and when it did, I just hoped the brakes weren't going to fail as it sped down the other side.

It finally arrived safe and sound in Lochranza at about 11.45am. The village stretches out down one side of the bay which is almost surrounded by green hills. I walked along the main street and saw a big signboard for the Strathclyde Regional Council's Chief Executive Department for the Registration of Births, Marriages and Deaths. All I could see was a dilapidated old hut up a track, so I filmed it for the benefit of my father who, as a Superintendent Registrar, has somewhat pokey premises himself. Next I came to a hut occupied by the Tourist Office and chatted to the lady inside for a while before feeling obliged to buy some postcards. Then I walked around to the other side of Loch Ranza itself and found a bench near to a stream running into the sea. With a perfect view of the ruined fourteenth century castle, a former hunting lodge of the Scottish Kings, it was the ideal setting for lunch.

After my tuna and tomato roll, I went back around to investigate the castle and film it from various angles as it looked so picturesque in the sunshine. It was turning into a beautiful day set in true Kodachrome colours. I watched the little ferry coming in from Claonaig, which is a thirty-minute ride away on the Kintyre Peninsula opposite. It's the boat I'll be catching next week. Then, the Royal Navy frigate HMS LONDON turned up heading further north towards a whole galaxy of yachts which I could see on the horizon, their white sails scattered over an expanse of blue sea.

In the afternoon, I decided to walk to Catacol which is a couple of miles from Lochranza along the coastal road. The sea was gently lapping away at the pebble beach which runs all the way down this part of the island. Across the water, the low-lying Kintyre Peninsula stretched southwards. Catacol is the home of the Twelve Apostles: a row of identical white cottages sitting on the seafront. Impressive hills rose up behind the village, but it was time for me to head back to Lochranza.

I was early for the 6.20pm bus and so sat in a sheltered spot overlooking the ocean. The bench, in memory of a local man who had moved away, was inscribed with part of a poem: "And we in dreams behold the Hebrides". That's what I'd been doing for a long time before I returned.

Waiting at the bus stop by the castle, I saw a Sea King helicopter hovering out to sea, its blades whipping up the water. Just as the bus arrived, another chopper turned up. I wondered if it was an exercise or a real Search and Rescue mission.

By 7pm I was back in Brodick. Not wishing to break the spell of such a pleasant evening, I bought some more fish and chips and found a bench near the children's play area. Yachts silently bobbed up and down in the bay. I sat looking out to sea and at the mainland in the distance. The ideal end to a perfect day.

Or almost. When I returned to the B+B, I found it difficult to get into the house, as the front door was warped and the lock wasn't really straight. Eventually I managed to open the door, but then couldn't lock it from the inside. After a quick wash, I sat reading the collection of local books in the dining room, waiting for someone else to come back, so they could lock up.

Sunday 30th May 1993 - Day 4

After breakfast, I mentioned my problem with the key to Mrs. Yates, who told me that she had asked someone to look at it only last week, but that it wasn't really any better. She showed me where she keeps the spare key to the back door just in case I got stuck again. As it was hidden in the garage, we had to go through the kitchen. It reminded me of Effie Mackinnon's place in Tarbert where my sister and I stayed in 1984 - Gaelic music blaring out of the radio, a saucepan full of porridge, frying pans and pots galore all waiting to be washed.

The weather has taken a turn for the worse, which is perhaps just as well since my face is as red as a lobster and the tops of my ears are really sore. I walked down to the pier in the rain and spotted the Navy frigate out to sea towards Ardrossan. This time, I took the south circular bus, round to Whiting Bay, passing through Lamlash with Holy Island opposite, rising a thousand feet out of the sea. There were just as many hair-raising hills and bends going in this direction as on the road heading north. The village itself looked pretty deserted. A couple of shops were open selling buckets and spades. I thought I'd read of a ferry over to Holy Island, but all I saw was a tiny boat hut.

After walking along the seafront a little way, I found a sign indicating the footpath to the Glen Ashdale waterfall which I had noticed on the map. It began as a narrow, twisting road, which meant I had to keep my ears open for cars - and there were several that sent me jumping into the hedgerow. It rained off and on, but I got quite warm, continually climbing upwards. Before long, the road turned into a track which was muddy in places and very uneven. Although it was only one and a half miles to the top, it seemed a lot further.

Eventually, I came to another signpost pointing into dark, dense forest. I stumbled along, heading towards daylight in the distance. As I arrived, a family sitting on a wooden bench was preparing to leave. A torrent of brown mountain water was crashing down the hillside opposite. Moisture rose out of the trees and into the blanket of low cloud in a two-tone vision of dark green and off-white. It was like being enclosed by a rain forest.

I would have dearly liked to sit down for a while, but the midges were out in force. As I stood there alone, wildly trying to fend off a savage attack, a group of American girls (all in shorts, despite the weather) suddenly emerged from the semi-darkness and asked me to take their photograph for them. Maybe they were the ones that asked me the way up Goatfell when I was at Brodick Castle. I realised that there was another path through the forest, leading to the actual top of the waterfall, but I needed to head back down for lunch.

Once safely at sea level again, I went for a sandwich in the tearooms that I had spotted earlier. By this time it was pouring down and the place was packed out, so I had to share a table with a couple and their daughter. After studying the bus timetable, I decided to catch the next one and carry on a bit further south, past the ruins of Kildonan Castle and onto Kilmory and Lagg. It was only drizzling when I got off the bus, so I walked up a forest footpath lined with bluebells. It led by the side of a mountain stream to an ancient cairn overlooking the sea. I didn't stay long as the rain was coming down faster and I knew that if I missed the next bus, there wasn't another for two hours. At the "bus stop" (a convenient corner in the village), I met a Dutch girl. She told me that she was staying in Whiting Bay for a fortnight. Apparently she'd done a lot of travelling in Europe, but this was her first visit to Scotland.

The bus eventually got me back to Brodick around 4.30pm, just as the ferry was coming in. Hordes of foot passengers got off and there were hundreds queuing up to return to Ardrossan. It makes me wonder where they all go, as I've not felt particularly crowded by tourists anywhere that I've been yet.

Tonight I went for a baked potato with cheese at the Stalkers Eating House, which seems to have quite a good menu for non meat-eaters. I recognised a girl in there who I've seen twice already. I saw her cycling up the hill on the way to Lochranza (when even the bus was struggling), then later at the castle and again today when she was on her bike around Lagg. Funny how you seem to see the same faces all the time. There are some people I've seen on the bus each time I've caught it. I had no problem with the key when I returned to the B+B: the door was open, so Mrs. Yates' friend must have come earlier than planned.

Monday 31st May 1993 - Day 5

A grey start to the day. I bought myself a roll from the bakery on the seafront and took the north circular bus round to Blackwaterfoot which is right on the other side of the island. I saw a few more seals near the castle and also some deer in the hills surrounding Lochranza. After going through Catacol, which is as far as I'd been until today, there were so many ups and downs, I felt like I was on a roller coaster ride. Again, the road followed the coast and there were several frightening bends along the way. The village itself is the terminus for both the north and south circular buses, but there wasn't much there, except the general store where I found a beautiful card of my favourite stone circle in the snow.

I managed to find the signpost to the King's Cave, said to have been where Robert the Bruce was inspired by the spider struggling up its thread. The footpath starts off parallel to the beach, then cuts through the golf course. I soon came across a little wooden shelter for the golfers. Seeing that it was so windy and no-one else was around, I sat and ate my lunch there. The course itself looked particularly difficult. At one point, I watched some golfers hitting the ball right off a cliff to an unseen hole down at sea level. I continued following the signs across a field and then down a steep path by cliffs which reminded me of pictures of the imposing black columns of Staffa. Then I had to trek along the coast which was more pebble and rock than sand. I came to another tortuous narrow path going up and down the cliffs. Wondering if I was ever going to reach the caves, as it was so slippery, I suddenly thought how I could easily break my ankle on all the reddish brown mud. The presence of other walkers on the way reassured me that I would probably have been rescued had I come to grief.

Despite iron railings across the caves' entrance, I managed to go inside one of them, although I didn't stay long because of a group of children messing about and another squadron of midges. I carefully retraced my steps, worrying if I would manage to climb back up the cliff path. It was so dark and black inland, I'm surprised it didn't rain. Yet all afternoon on the Kintyre Peninsula opposite, I could see the sun lighting up the coastline through an opening in the clouds. Once I was safely back in the village, I found a seat overlooking the beach and tried a spot of bird-watching to pass the time. The only thing I recognised was a heron. Sitting there with the cold wind blowing off the sea, I decided to retreat into the hotel bar for an orange juice and wait for the bus.

Eventually I made it back to Brodick around 7pm, having taken the south circular route on the return journey. At least now I have managed to go right around the island on its sixty-mile coastal road. After being frozen earlier in the afternoon, I was pleased to tuck in to a large plate of scampi, peas, carrots, chips and salad at Stalkers before returning to the B+B.

Tuesday 1st June 1993 - Day 6

Today I decided to do some seal-watching. I walked back past the castle to try and find the spot I had seen from the bus. It was a bit further than I thought, but I found them in the end. Out of a group of approximately twenty seals, some bobbed around in the water, but most were perched on the rocks. At first I daren't get too close for fear of frightening them and observed cautiously through field glasses. Their funny faces gave them a human-like quality. Later some people turned up in a car, which tipped off all the other tourists who happened to be driving past. They walked straight up to the edge of the sea, with noisy children and no consideration. To my surprise, the seals didn't seem to mind too much. I suppose they are probably used to it by now. When they all got bored and left, I slowly moved to within about fifteen metres of the rocks to do some filming. After staying for a good hour and a half, I also spotted a heron, but on such a dull day it scarcely stood out against the intermingled greyness of the rocks and water.

I walked back to Brodick by cutting across the beach and golf course, then stopped for lunch in the Good Food place, near the B+B. One side is a health food shop and then there is a counter selling snacks which you can eat next door or at picnic tables outside. They also have a laundrette where I'll do my washing tomorrow.

Having studied the bus timetable over lunch, I decided to head back to Whiting Bay where it rained on Sunday. When I got on the bus, it was fine, but by the time we arrived, it was pouring down again! I wanted to try the walk to the Giants' Graves this time. Luckily, for most of the way the footpath was under such dense forest that you could hardly tell it was raining. I followed what seemed like a never-ending set of steps going up and up the hill, wondering if I would ever make it. After the steps, the ground still rose steeply and it became even darker. Eventually, I could see daylight ahead, then I came to a clearing, presumably at the very top of the hill. I could see only the sky above and the trees immediately surrounding the giant-sized gravestones/burial chambers which lay amid a carpet of bluebells. The rain eased off temporarily to give me chance to walk around, then continued non-stop all the way back to Brodick.

Wednesday 2nd June 1993 - Day 7

Directly after breakfast I went out to the laundrette down the road. It didn't take long to finish my washing, as I only had one load, then I was ready to make the most of my last full day on Arran. Having seen photographs of the Bronze Age standing stones on Machrie Moor, I decided to take a ride over there on the north circular bus. It wasn't the best of days though, very grey, with rain at altitude. The bus dropped me at the footpath which cut across a farmer's fields and led to moorland. Not far from the road, a small circle was protected by a stone wall. The path carried on towards the main site, three-quarters of a mile further on. The wind was ferocious and I had to fight to walk in a straight line. I stopped every time I came to anything like shelter, even if it was only a grassy bank a few feet high. Although I would have thought that most tourists wouldn't have bothered battling against the elements, I was surprised just how many there were about.

As I began to wonder if I would ever get there, a tiny hill rose in front of me. Once over the top, I came across two groups of small white boulders to the right of the path. Further down on the left stood a derelict cottage and beyond that I could see the tall, red stones I'd seen in the brochure. As I reached the information board, the sun came out to greet me. The stones were such an unreal colour: a warm red that would have seemed more at home in Australia or America. I'd seen rock like it before though, on the way to the King's Cave, where even the soil had this peculiar hue. Unfortunately, the sun was soon lost to the grey clouds that covered the sky and the scene grew duller.

A huge, solitary stone stood a couple of hundred metres from three others which appeared to be all that remained of a long-gone circle. The direct route between them was so boggy, wooden planks had been laid in the worst parts, although even these had started to sink. Having waited for people to leave, I managed some filming, including a shot of myself, but it was hard to keep the camcorder steady in the wind. Hidden in a dip in the land was another set of white boulders - and a bunch of picnicking tourists. In order to eat my sandwich, I had to shelter behind one the stones of the group of three. This has to be my most unusual if uncomfortable lunch time setting so far. In the distance I could see "The String", one of two roads which cut across the island. Having really only explored Arran's outer rim, I will have to investigate more inland the next time I visit.

When it was time to leave, a strange, almost unearthly call started up. I spotted a large brown-feathered bird circling overhead. It swooped down and scurried along the moorland. After watching for a while I realised that there were two of them. Later I found out that they were curlews with their distinctive long beaks. On the way back along the track, I picked up a tiny piece of red stone which I shall label and keep. I must try to remember to get a stone from every island I visit.

I returned to the road and walked the couple of miles north to Machrie village. There was a golf course and club house which seemed to be open as a general tearoom. It was packed with tourists from a coach parked outside, so I just slipped in to use the toilet. While I was waiting for the bus back to Brodick, I saw a telephone box and rang to check that the bus which meets the ferry at Claonaig will indeed run tomorrow. A man answered saying something or other post office, making me think that I had dialled the wrong number. It turned out to be the right place, but I can't imagine what sort of bus it can be.

..... Go to the next chapter ......

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May 1998