This weekend, it was a mixed-bag trip to the Isle of Arran (two hours by road from E'burgh and then a one-hour ferry ride).
First the better-to-forget-quickly part - our bus developed a puncture on saturday morning so we missed our ferry to Arran. It was actually quite dramatic - we were about five minutes from the ferry terminal and we could see the ferry depart from the harbour in front of our eyes. That sight certainly got...
This weekend, it was a mixed-bag trip to the Isle of Arran (two hours by road from E'burgh and then a one-hour ferry ride).
First the better-to-forget-quickly part - our bus developed a puncture on saturday morning so we missed our ferry to Arran. It was actually quite dramatic - we were about five minutes from the ferry terminal and we could see the ferry depart from the harbour in front of our eyes. That sight certainly got a lot of blood-pressures spiralling.
Anyways, we had about three hours to kill in the port town of Ardrossan. Even a usually-optimistic piece of literature like the LP calls Ardrossan run-down and ramshackle. Spending three hours in this town (after having irritatingly missed a ferry by a few minutes only) was not a very pleasant experience. The only silver lining that pleased my sub-continental heart was the obligatory 'Indian Restaurant' (yet again!). We didn't see very many people in the town - I guess no one would wants to make use of the advantages that come from being an Ardrossian!
After three not-so memorable hours we were finally on the one-hour ferry to Arran. The Island is said to be a mini-Scotland in that it offers all that Scotland has for the visitor - stunning countryside, beaches, meadows, gently rolling hills, castles, a brewery, a distillery and, last but not least, SHEEP!
The port town, where the ferry lands, is Brodick and has a castle, a bay, a chocolate factory, a cheese farm and an aromatics factory (that is a mouthful!). The castle is closed during this season so our first stop was the small but rather expensive chocolate factory. I saved money and avoided the calories by resisting temptation! Am regretting it now when i see the photographs of the chocolates.
Since it was a saturday, the bus schedule was less frequent than what it would normally be. That hindered our movement around the island. We (after waiting for a bus that never showed up) finally decided to take a round-the-island bus trip. The view of the sunset was mindblowing and the Island somehow reminded me of Capri (though no one would agree with me!). We also passed through Blackwaterfoot (which has since, for raisons francaises, been renamed 'waterproof'!). This place is famous for "Standing Stones", a group of upright stone slabs erected more than 6000 years back, and "Kings Cave" where good ol' Robert Bruce had his run-in with the tenacious spider.
We were staying in the northern-most part of the Island in Lochranza. The youth hostel was choc-a-bloc and the next morning saw a few of us trudge it up (at 0700 hours, mind you) to the 13th century castle of Lochranza which apparently is the inspiration for the castle in Tintin's "The Black Island". After a misty session of photography near the castle and a heavy breakfast back at the youth hostel, we ventured out to get our share of adventure for the day.
After considering various walking options (apparently there are more than 18 well trod walks on this island) we narrowed our sights and hiking boots on Goatfell - the highest point on the Island. This trek upto Goatfell is around two and a half miles (one-way) from the main road that encircles the island. The hike up and down was expected to take approx. 5-6 hours so we decided to risk it (to make up for the lost sightseeing the previous day) even though we had a ferry to catch in the late afternoon.
Eleven of us started it and two dropped out pretty soon. Seeing some of them disappear into the distance and keeping an eye on the time, we vacillated between trudging on and turning back. Instead, we left our backpacks in the meadow and moved up fast (speed and time, as Einstein reminded us, is relative). Lo and behold - as soon as we discarded our backpacks behind a large stone (something that I would have never done back home!), we gained in speed and confidence and the ascent did not seem as formidable as before. We did have a near fatal fall (I am not joking) about half an hour from the summit when a sudden gust of wind almost blew both of us from the top. They would have found our bodies years later and parallels would have been drawn with the Mallory-Irvine debate (do your own googling!) as to whether we were on our way to the summit or on our way back.
Thereafter we learnt our lesson and decided to give the wind the respect it deserved. Whenever the wind picked up, we would immediately sit down (as if it was gunfire and not the wind!). About 20 minutes from the top (it was a very steep climb at that point), we saw the others returning. They egged us on with promises of breathtaking views. But we were also told that it was very very windy and foggy with hints of drizzle. Then after a serious what-if conference we decided (with a heavy heart and ample regret) not to risk life and limb and turned back from our version of the 'Hillary-step'. So mountaineering glory evaded us (for the record we would have done it had it not been for the wind, the clouds and the paucity of time) and it was indeed a sad day in the annals of mountaineering history.
The climb back was not as easy as we had anticipated and since we had time on our hands we stopped every ten minutes for a photography and movie session. Once we found our backpacks where we had left them, we had a little luncheon picnic in perhaps the windiest conditions I have ever encountered.
On our way back we bumped into a princess (who was bothered by bugs in her shoes and not peas in her mattresses), a lady who walked backwards and someone who refused to budge in the crazily-fast-blowing wind (but still wanted the poor photographer to run around at considerable danger to his precious life) and a surprisingly happy-looking sheep in a revolving sheep-cage.
Back on the road, we tried a Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert to get to Brodick to catch the ferry. The first 9 Arranians (i wonder that is what they are called. Not to be confused with countryment of Ahmedinejad) who saw two tired mountaineers with their thumbs begging for a lift increased their speed on seeing us (some of them even had the gall to wave at us while denying us a ride!). Fortune finally smiled at us and we got two rides in a row. So now I can list Hitchhiking as another one of my skills (after hiking!).
For the record, we did not miss the ferry back from Arran and all of us reached mainland Scotland in one piece (albiet tired to the bone). But sadly by the time we reached E'burgh, the Guy Fawkes firecrackers and bonfires were over (Though I believe that some amateurs did manage to burn down a portion of Arthur's Seat and tested the skills of the local fire brigade!).
(Nov, 2006)
