Goat Fell seen from Brodick |
Whiting Bay is the next place, home of the other youth hostel on Arran (closed November to February) and quite a large village. Evidence of storms here too -- Deb points out that the sea wall has been breached and fixed up temporarily with sand-bags. Lots of swans here in the calm bay, maturing signets with the last remnants of their grey plumage, and Susie can't resist taking some footage, since all the swans back in Oz are apparently black (which I find quite a bizarre thought). A few Eider ducks tag along with the swans, as if to continue the black/white theme. Despite the village being bigger, nothing seems to be open. The other cars we can see seem to be doing some kind of vehicle-based window-shopping (it's still lashing it down with rain), although they're probably just driving up to each shop to see if it's closed or not, and then driving away again. Nearly everything we can see is closed, probably due to being a Sunday and especially a Sunday just after Hogmanay, and we begin to wonder whether we'll actually find anything to eat before the ferry leaves.
We continue around the coast and see the steep-sided Holy Island appear -- actually more like mountain sitting out in the bay. Initially the site of a monastery (hence the name), it's now home to a Buddhist retreat. There are very few buildings on it, and Susie tells us (with the help of her camcorder's zoom lens) that the white building we can see next to some kind of jetty is the monastery. I try to imagine monks meditating at the top of the mountain (Mullach Mor, 1130ft), but the whole thing looks so steep and pointed I can't see how they'd avoid being blown off the top.
Opposite the island is a lovely bay, marred (if not scarred) only by the caravan site, filled with rectangular yellow and white wooden boxes exactly like the trashed one we saw in the field earlier. This is Lamlash, actually a nice little village once we've left the caravans on the other side of the bay. Still nowhere to eat though, so we carry on to Brodick, home of the ferry terminal and so effectively the "capital" of Arran.
Recognising the ferry terminal from the night before, we continue along the road looking for sustenance -- and by this time we're fairly gagging to have a look at prices in an estate agent's window too. Funnily enough we spot a window full of colour photos and particulars, so Susie and I pop out of the car to indulge our fantasies. Converted church, still needs some renovation: £35,000. Five bedroomed guest house with conservatory: £98,000. Various empty plots of land: between £25,000 and £35,000. Definitely doable, definitely doable, but how long does it take to learn to knit?
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Goat Fell seen from Brodick |
Back into the car. A lovely view of Goat Fell across the bay; this is Arran's largest mountain (2866ft/874m), brown with winter bracken but with a tantalising dusting of snow on its pointed peak. As luck would have it, we notice "Stalkers Cafe" a couple of doors away. Then a heavy hailstorm starts, pea-sized hail bouncing off the road, but looking really cool where it hits the sea. Susie gets some footage. I nip out through the hail (not as painful as it looked) to check the door of Stalkers, and it's actually been open since 10:30am! Hallelujah! With almost no regard to what they might have by way of a menu we pile into the cafe and I sit down at a large table next to a big window with a view of the bay and Goat Fell. A very young (around 13 or 14) skinny waitress approaches cautiously, and we each place orders for much-needed stodge (Susie - egg/chips/sausage/beans; Deb - cheeseburger; Chris - macaroni cheese and chips), but we don't really care what it is so long as it's edible. The AM station Atlantic 252 plays "classic hits" on the cafe's radio (as American Pie starts up Susie demonstrates her radio presenting experience by informing us that it's 7 minutes 50 -- if it's the full version -- and is what's known in the trade as a "toilet record"), and we gladly receive coffees and hot chocolates.
Once the stodge is put away and the bill's settled and we're back in the car, we realise we have about 30 minutes before we need to check in for the ferry, so that appears to be just long enough to head up what seems like the only bit of road on the island that we haven't yet covered -- the one that cuts across from Brodick (3 o'clock) to Machrie (9 o'clock) across the central glen known as "The String". We plan to drive as far as we can in 15 minutes and then turn round and come back, so as to get a place on the ferry (we have our return tickets, but haven't made a reservation). Heading up the hill the bay glitters behind us and large patches of blue sky appear. The glen is large and, remembering the pictures on the hostel-wall map, I automatically switch into Spotting Mode, glancing at the passing hills on each side, as well as checking the sky. Way above one of the hilltops I see two large birds with long wingspans circling slowly -- almost certainly a couple of Golden Eagles.
Susie and Deb are chatting away, as we head across to the other side. Now I'm looking for some of Arran's famous feral goats, and I see what looks like a small herd of darkish goats on the other side of the valley, which by now is pretty wide so they're quite far away. I point them out, but nobody else can see them. We continue along the road towards Machrie, past a very strange postbox at a road junction which seems to be built into some kind of stone lantern decorated with mysterious symbols that almost look like astrological signs or runes, but aren't familiar. A single kestrel hovers perfectly still about 20ft directly above the road, oblivious to the infrequent cars passing by. Past a field full of pheasants and eventually we realise we have to turn round and head back or we might be in trouble time-wise.
A quick rush back along the glen in the other direction, once again under the kestrel, who's still in exactly the same spot. I look out for the goats again while Deb and Susie continue discussions about old friends back home. Suddenly, there the goats are again and I notice their white flanks and thick tails and realise that they're actually deer, but much darker than I'd expected. Again I point them out, but they're difficult to see as Susie speeds us back to the ferry. We're torn between stopping and checking them out -- we all wanted to have a good look at some deer -- and getting back to Brodick so we don't miss the ferry. (We've all seen deer contained by fences, but these are true wild animals, quite common in Scotland but the sight of them still seems quite precious somehow.) Susie, quite rightly, keeps us moving as fast as possible, although after I've seen a lighter, more sandy-coloured stag (complete with large antlers) grazing on the bracken we stop for 30 seconds while I jump out and try to get a better look. But we're really too far away too see properly, and certainly there's little chance of any photos.
Heading back to Brodick along The String |
So we rush back down the hill towards the bay: by now it's quite sunny and we can see our ferry ploughing a white furrow through the sparkling blue water towards Brodick harbour. As we finally arrive in Brodick we suddenly see a surprising number of cars -- we haven't even seen this many people on the island so far, so we wonder where they're all coming from. Apparently they're crawling out of the woodwork to get onto the ferry, since there's now a big queue of vehicles waiting in the sunshine to to get into the harbour area... quite a contrast to the handful of cars on the dark, storm-lashed quayside at Ardrossan the night before.
After queuing for a while and getting quite worried about the number of cars lined up in front of us, a CalMac man wrapped in a large fluorescent yellow waterproof finally comes up to us and after asking if we have a reservation directs us to the ominous-looking waiting-line on the far right of the car park, the one that's obviously for people who are only going to get on board if there's enough space after the reservation people have boarded. And we're the very last car in the line. Susie makes another one of her acerbic comments about Brits queuing, and we sit there biting our lips as we wait for everyone else to board, wondering if we'll get on. Eventually we're visited by the CalMac guy again and he gives us our magic boarding passes and we're away. What a relief!
Goat Fell seen from the Ferry |
Once out of the car I'm up on the rear deck, making the most of the reasonable weather to finish off the film in my camera. The wind is still the kind of cold blast that makes your eyes water uncontrollably, so Deb heads below deck while Susie and I try to capture the view of Arran as we leave. The snow-capped Goat Fell dominates the bay, its brown lower slopes sweeping down to the bay and Brodick Castle (unlike the ruin at Lochranza this is a relatively new building, owned by the dukes of Hamilton). I have a couple of exposures left on my film, so I'm quite pleased with myself when I manage to snap a young guy in a kilt and a fleece leaning on the railing watching wistfully as Brodick disappears. I realise that we never did see any seals.
Leaving Arran |
Sailing out of Brodick |
The journey back is fairly pleasant (albeit rather smoky in the bar), although it does gets rougher as we near the mainland, and Deb and I have a bash at the crossword (cryptic again) in The Scotsman On Sunday. Surprisingly soon we're back in Ardrossan and heading out of the shabby harbour area, although the sign telling us to "Haste Ye Back" in that pseudo-celtic font is not unwelcome (and I for one am already thinking about heading back with my mountain bike when the weather improves).
The rest of the day is spent travelling up the Ayrshire coast through Largs and Wemyss Bay to Gourock, then as we start to re-enter the industrial zone of Inverclyde we begin see see old brick-built quayside warehouses, once elegant but now burnt out and vandalised. We pass the chilling sight of Hunterston B Nuclear Power Station (placed on a Grade 2 security alert during the gales). Still, the other side of the Clyde looks attractive with snow-covered peaks and little rocky islands providing plenty of visual variety. Soon we're on the M8 heading into Glasgow and I realise with a sigh that I have to go back to the real world.
With some deft navigation Deb and Susie drop me at Queen Street railway station where, after my grateful goodbyes, they phone Deb's friend Colin (their next point of call) and I buy a single to Edinburgh, surprisingly expensive at £7.30, in fact probably not much less than a night in Glasgow's youth hostel, but I have to get home so I can get stuck into some work the next day and there's a train in 15 minutes, at 5pm. I surprise myself by falling asleep on the 55-minute train ride home, and when I wake up it's pitch black outside, my neck is stiff and I've no idea where I am. Then I see the reassuring sight of Murrayfield Rugby Stadium go past and I know I'm nearly home. A short walk downhill back to the flat and everything's clean and tidy when I get back, thanks to my housework binge on New Year's day -- an impressive (but probably not representative) start to the year. I sit on the bed looking at my large, newly-bought map of Scotland on the wall and look at Arran, sitting there like a great Kidney bean between Ayrshire and Kintyre, feeling really glad that I had a chance to see it, and resolving to go back. With haste, even. ¤