Arran definitely delivered for the memory box. Peat-sprung pathways, wild mountain thyme and purple heather (where the lassie will go if she’s minded - as per the song) were a feature of one hike we took from one of our wild-camps. Crystal clear mountain waters gushed into deep pools that invited dogs and hot sweaty hikers to take a dip, so we did.
As well as hiking, Arran is an easy place to idle in (if you’re like me), and to bike around, if you’re more actively inclined, and that’s what Gareth did when he had the chance. While he muddied himself mountain biking I was happy to be parked up on the seafront at Lamlash, a pretty little village reliant nowadays on golf and tourism rather than fishing, especially since the bay is now a ‘No-Take’ zone. Sadly its sea-bed and fish stocks were ravaged by what was once an annual fishing festival. This year tourism has of course been difficult to fully service, with COVID still lurking but we found enough to enjoy and folk were friendly and accommodating. We got to know the island’s wild-camp spots and made sure we thanked the communities for the free motorhome service points by leaving donations and where we found litter, which was very rare, we cleaned up (#FB Wild and Wombling). The wild camping that we’ve seen is generally considerate and responsible, while stories of trashed sites and lack of etiquette elsewhere has featured in the news and social media. We have heard that where tolerance of wild campers in other parts has been sorely tested, signs are going up prohibiting it. ‘Leave no Trace’ is our motto, though given the amount of hair that the dogs and I shed, I guarantee that we’ve left a lot of DNA about the place.
I think the people of Arran were pleased to see tourists, whether free-camping or otherwise. There wasn’t capacity at the few campsites on the island so well behaved free-camping was accepted. Elsewhere it’s been more difficult to find suitable spots, or campsites for that matter.
So Arran scored well with us but we did leave it after a two week stay, taking the ferry from Lochranza to Kintyre seduced by the opportunity of a sea-food lunch at the Skipness Seafood Cabin, and which was indeed a lovely treat. Views of Arran from across the waters are dramatic. An island of two halves geologically and geographically, it looms out of the sea and from our wild-camp on the seashore at Skipness I gazed for hours at the rolling silvery waves and the mystical crags of Arran on the horizon. We toured Kintyre in one windy, rainy day and, yes, it’s worth another visit some day. This western part of Scotland is wonderful and more island hopping is a definite for a future trip. Our struck-lucky night spot as I write is at Stravanan Bay on the Isle of Bute and we are again looking out at Arran.
A useful bit of information to have when travelling around Scotland is a midge report; smidgeup.com is a good site listing different levels of threat. At level 1 I can cope but I don’t ever want to encounter level 5! I quickly found out that not having equipped us with Smidge was a mistake and now I need therapy to cure me of midge paranoia. I’ve had to accept that I’m a wimp and while I love being able to park up on a breezy seashore, camping in the forests and moorlands of Scotland just doesn't do it for me during any part of midge season, I’m afraid. I like seeing such places through the window as we drive along but the midges can keep them, as far as I’m concerned. Maybe the Scots have a DNA that makes them midge-immune, but clearly I have a different Celtic strain and am a bit tasty, at least as far as those beastly biters are concerned. They’re not so fussed about Gareth.
Midges aside, we are enjoying this unintended summer staycation, whatever a staycation means. Assuming it means staying in the UK instead of heading to foreign climes then we are doing our bit for the country’s economy. UK means unreliable weather and we’ve had a mixed bag. A trip to the outdoor shop in Brodick provided us with a couple of items of suitable outdoor clothing and some Smidge (phew!). Gareth was pleased to have got a good deal on a biking waterproof that next day he was too slow to put on as the heavens opened on him. He returned muddy, wet and bedraggled while, from inside the van, I enjoyed watching a little girl, dancing in the rain, clearly loving the sensation of it’s freshness on her summer skin. When skin is such an amazing coverall, why do we need all the very technical, environmentally toxic coverings that other creatures don’t bother with? Now there’s an idea to help save the planet! Let’s all become naturists and give up all the clobber we drag around with us.
Economically, we’ve had a couple of lucky strikes. Gareth is having a long paid holiday, thanks to Rishi Sunak’s furlough scheme and the National Trust. Then we won thirty quid on the lottery which paid for the Arran ferry and to top it off, the seafood lunch turned out to be half the expense we had pushed the boat out for - it was apparently subsidised by the August ‘Help to Eat Out’ scheme that we knew nothing about.
As an end-note, here’s a quick reflection on social distancing. The other day I saw an (older) woman wearing a T-shirt on the back of which was written “Social Distancing: if when I turn around I can punch you in the face you’re too close” (I guess she must be from Glasgow). It does occur to me that hugging and kissing anyone other than your lover or your child is a modern behaviour. Maybe the non-tactile behaviour of earlier generations that we thought of as repressive, was actually behaviour that made sense. Without vaccines, everyone is a threat to one’s health, aren’t they? It would seem that hankies, keeping a distance and hand-washing are codes of behaviour that we all have to learn anew in this COVID-19 era. What goes around comes around, eh?
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