Lochranza Castle |
View from outside the hostel; |
I slept fitfully and woke at 7am, as the alarm on my Psion palmtop played a sample of a cock crowing. I wondered if anyone else in the hostel had heard it, and switched the alarm off noticing that it was darker outside than ever, since the moon had gone again. Reluctantly I wandered to the shower, convincing myself that the day had some great exploring in store, or at least enough respite from the rain to be able to actually see further than a few yards.
Wandering downstairs in the darkness I rang the bell at the closed-up counter and got a couple more sachets of coffee (requirements for survival at that time of the morning, still before 8am and not showing much sign of dawn outside). There was no bread available, so I settled for a small packet of chocolate digestive biscuits, persuading myself that it wasn't such a different way of raising the blood sugar level than eating chocolate croissants or various other European breakfast strategies.
The only other people in the dining room were a young Dutch couple, obviously well-prepared, since they were tucking into a decent breakfast. I wished them a good morning and sat down at a table near the window, the ruined castle outside on the muddy edge of the loch now just becoming visible outside in the dim grey dawn. A few quiet moments gave me the chance to study some local information on the wall while I drank my coffee... a cheesy touristy map showed pictures of the various attractions presented by the different villages on Arran (there are only about a dozen, all on the coast), but usefully it showed some seals down in Kildonan in the South, and eagles and deer at various other places. At least now I'd know what to look for in each part.
Deb and Susie showed up about 8:15 as we'd agreed the night before, and after we'd got through a few more of the biscuits, we handed over the bedding, chatted to the hostel-keeper for a few minutes and then headed out onto the road. Well, about 300 metres down the road, since it was now just-about light and the loch and castle demanded some photographic attention. Susie wielded her credit card and phoned her brother Jack in Australia from a handy call-box while Deb and I crouched and clicked and tried to do the castle justice on film -- not easy, since it really needs to be viewed across the water... it looks as though it sits in the loch, but it's actually on a small promontory guarding the loch's mouth.
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Lochranza Castle |
View from outside the hostel; |
Off again in the car, this time getting as far as the next village -- Catacol -- a couple of miles down the road, in a pretty bay. The beach is covered in large rounded rocks, so I scramble down by the bridge over a river flowing out into the bay, thinking of our recently-acquired desire to see some seals. I disturb a grey heron who lifts into the air and then wafts leisurely away to safety. Stepping more quietly, wondering what other wildlife might be hanging around, I follow the wiry green grass riverbank down to the beach, only to see a large reddish-brown hawk take off and zoom down the bay. Initially I'd thought it was a Buzzard, but looking back it must've been a Golden Eagle, since Buzzards don't have that colouring.
Bridge at Catacol |
Catacol seen from across the bay |
Back in the car and off again, once again cooing at the cottages and semi-seriously contemplating what it might be like to live in such splendid isolation. A brief pause every now again to photograph or video various interesting features (such as a field of infeasibly large turnips -- bigger than footballs, and sticking right out of the soil!), and we carry on round the coast, the wind continuing to batter us while the rain comes and goes. During clearer moments the Kintyre Peninsula is visible across the water (Kilbrannan Sound) and thoughts turn to the Mull of Kintyre, where Scotland reaches out to touch Northern Ireland. Somehow at that moment we find ourselves listening to one of Susie's compilations featuring Christy Moore and Van Morrison and everything fits perfectly, the rain and the continually-changing light over the grey water creating a moody, Celtic landscape to go with the music.
Further round the coast we go, past many sheep whose hillside-clinging exploits amuse and amaze the Antipodean contingent, watching in vain for seals although I'm convinced we'll see some easily enough as long as we look closely. The rocky coast is home to lots of shags (perching on rocks or flapping over the water with necks stretched right out as though they're making an effort to look like they do in the text-books), as well as oystercatchers and curlews. We pass a whole field of curlews on the inland side of the road, who all take off simultaneously and fly alongside the car. Reaching Machrie at the 9 o'clock point we head up a dirt track in search of the stone circles (of which there are supposedly six in close proximity) and find a very small one, surrounded by sheep muck which we realise could quite well end up lining the car by the end of the day considering how often we're jumping in and out with our cameras...
Auchgallon Stone Circle near Machrie |
By this time we're getting pretty hungry, so we hop back in and carry on round the coast, eyes now peeled for somewhere to get lunch as much as for the elusive seals. We head away from the coast uphill for a while, and then back downhill towards the Sound once more, spotting a reminder of the recent battering that Ayrshire received from the Boxing Day gales -- a caravan in the middle of an otherwise-empty field that's been lifted into the air and deposited ungracefully back down again after being rotated through 135 degrees. It's a splintered wreck.
Our stomachs are still rumbling, but salvation soon arrives in the form of the village of Blackwaterfoot and its hotel -- wandering into reception we ask if there's any chance of a coffee and we're met with smiles and told to go and sit in the guest's lounge and they'll sort us out. The lounge turns out to have huge picture windows looking out over the water, giving us all (and especially Susie, who'd been negotiating winding roads all morning) a chance to sit and relax and enjoy the view. When the refreshment arrives at our table it's a huge cafetiere of excellent coffee, along with some very nice crockery, and we settle in quite happily, along with the three others on the far side of the large room (presumably residents), and chat about how the weather here compares with Ireland and Australia, and somehow end up discussing Oz's ecological disasters such as the introduction of huge ugly Cane Toads from Hawaii in a misguided attempt to control local beetles, and various stories related to dynamite-based rabbit culling. Meanwhile, the view of Kintyre disappears and the rain descends with a vengeance. After paying for the coffee we have to dash to the car to avoid being soaked, and we're off again.
We're becoming a little concerned about the time now, since we still need to find lunch somewhere before checking in for the ferry at 1:20 at the latest. Heading through the wonderfully-named Sliddery and Lagg the sun breaks out through the thick clouds to illuminate random stretches of the Sound... an almost pyramid-shaped island is lit from behind intermittently, and it comes and goes in the landscape like a ghost ship. It was possibly Pladda (off Kildonan), or it could have been Sanda Island (off the end of the Kintyre peninsula), or even Ailsa Craig (off Girvan, South Ayrshire), but it's difficult to tell which direction we were looking.
A Ghostly Island appears in Kilbrannan Sound |
The roadsign ahead warns of a turning (excitement!) and we decide to follow the loop of road down to Kildonan, since this is where the map on the hostel wall had promised seals. Instead we see a few rocks, and one or two very nice large houses (possibly hotels), even one with a colonial-style white veranda, but there's little else. We head off again, now getting pretty hungry.