If it's thinkin' in yer inner hert braggarts in my step,
You've never smellt the tangle o' the isles
You've never smellt the tangle o' the isles
OK! when Harry Lauder penned these words, he was thinking of the Hebrides. But, the sentiment could apply to any group of islands. There is a fascination about islands, even those as close to 'civilisation' as those of the Clyde. In the few years of the Ooters existence, we have visited them on numerous occasions: Arran four times, Cumbrae three, Bute two and even Ailsa Craig has had a visit.
This attraction was understandable on a day like this when the sky was blue, frost whitened the ground and snow lay above the thousand contour. The Alp-like peaks of Arran looked particularly grand, so grand in fact that the photographer cheil from Alloway and his apprentice from Troon stopped on the way to Largs for a photo-shoot. They still arrived in time for coffee. We met them there.
We gathered in Largs to make a short ferry crossing for we were for Cumbrae once more. The route taken on the island requires no description for we have walked it before. It is sufficient to say that it was to be a circuit of the island taking in the Gladestane today for we suspected superb views from the heights. We were not to be disappointed.
Frost still rimed the grasses where the sun hadn't reached it even in the salty air of the coast and, as we climbed towards the Gladestane ice spilled across the road. On one of these icy patches, the waste disposal vehicle (bucket lorry) was stuck while a tractor laden with salt-grit tried to rescue it. We might have offered our services but we didn't want to spoil the fun of those already there. We walked on. Near the top of the hill, the lorry and tractor passed us with cheery waves from the crews.
The cackling of geese took our attention and a large flock (300+) feeding two fields away were identified as Pink-footed by the man who seems to know. The cackling apparently is a good indicator. But we left the geese to their noisy feeding and climbed yet.
All the time we had been climbing, the views east and north had been opening up for us. The Renfrew Heights above Largs were white with last week's snow, as were the hills of Argyll and Cowal. They all looked inviting. Yet this north-eastward view was nothing to what greeted us on the top for now we could look in a three-sixty degree compass. Arran lay directly in front, magnificent in its winter manly: beyond Arran the lower hills of Knapdale glistened mint-green under the frost: Bute similarly, with Mount Stuart being pointed out: the northern hills, as far as the eye could see, gleamed white in the sun with the Arrochar Alps and Ben Lomond being identified: east and southeast, the hills of Ayrshire and Galloway shone slightly less white but inviting nevertheless. Even Ailsa Craig in the south donned a white cap today. Absolutely magnificent. 'Whaur's yer Canigu, noo?' someone was heard to ask and, yes, today's views were comparable with Mosset. We spent time at the Gladestane. 
View-wise, the rest of the walk was an anticlimax for we were now returning to sea level. The hills did remain in view but, from the low angle, they didn't have the same appeal. Interest was found in other things, though. We came down through the farm of Breakough. This was a mill at one time and Davie had us all in the yard looking at where the mill wheel used to be. ‘It’s some size’, said Ian. We hope he was referring to the mill wheel and not boasting again.
Further architectural interest was engendered when we came into Millport and along the front of the Garrison building. We noted, from closer distance than before, the original architectural features and the sympathetic restoration of the building. Peter was impressed.
We wandered through the town, along the shore and out to Davie’s favourite seat for lunch. (Who says the Ooters are creatures of habit?) A car was parked at the picnic area. Inside were two middle-aged women. Half way through our peece, one of the women leaned out of the drivers door, raised a flask above her head and shouted something about Last of the Summer Wine. She then disappeared back into the car and the two drove off. We never did find out what was in that flask.
We now had only four miles or so to walk and an hour and a half to do it in so it would be leisurely walk back. Well, for Peter and Ian it was to be a leisurely walk back. The rest shot off at a fair rate of knots. The fast groups suggested Peter and Ian would be too busy blethering to put one foot in front of the other. They, on the other hand, thought the fast group already had the smell of ale in their nostrils and had started a stampede. We were to be at the ferry terminal before the two groups came together ag
ain.
The fast group included the birders and they were at it now. Ducks and ducks and more ducks. Then geese, the same gaggle as we had seen earlier. Then some wee things prancing about in the water. Then more ducks.* They were enthralled and started ornithologising. Yet Rex never let the conversation get too serious. He certainly was on good form today.
The lifebelt was found by Rex. We suspected it might have been removed from the ferry terminal by some scallywag or other who found it too heavy to carry round the island. We offered to help Rex carry it back but, being a tough Aussie, he declined our offer. (That’s our story and we are sticking to it.) He carried it back himself, all the way to the terminal.
We just missed the two o’clock ferry and had a few minutes to wait for the next one. Then Peter and Ian joined us.
This attraction was understandable on a day like this when the sky was blue, frost whitened the ground and snow lay above the thousand contour. The Alp-like peaks of Arran looked particularly grand, so grand in fact that the photographer cheil from Alloway and his apprentice from Troon stopped on the way to Largs for a photo-shoot. They still arrived in time for coffee. We met them there.
We gathered in Largs to make a short ferry crossing for we were for Cumbrae once more. The route taken on the island requires no description for we have walked it before. It is sufficient to say that it was to be a circuit of the island taking in the Gladestane today for we suspected superb views from the heights. We were not to be disappointed.
Frost still rimed the grasses where the sun hadn't reached it even in the salty air of the coast and, as we climbed towards the Gladestane ice spilled across the road. On one of these icy patches, the waste disposal vehicle (bucket lorry) was stuck while a tractor laden with salt-grit tried to rescue it. We might have offered our services but we didn't want to spoil the fun of those already there. We walked on. Near the top of the hill, the lorry and tractor passed us with cheery waves from the crews.
The cackling of geese took our attention and a large flock (300+) feeding two fields away were identified as Pink-footed by the man who seems to know. The cackling apparently is a good indicator. But we left the geese to their noisy feeding and climbed yet.
All the time we had been climbing, the views east and north had been opening up for us. The Renfrew Heights above Largs were white with last week's snow, as were the hills of Argyll and Cowal. They all looked inviting. Yet this north-eastward view was nothing to what greeted us on the top for now we could look in a three-sixty degree compass. Arran lay directly in front, magnificent in its winter manly: beyond Arran the lower hills of Knapdale glistened mint-green under the frost: Bute similarly, with Mount Stuart being pointed out: the northern hills, as far as the eye could see, gleamed white in the sun with the Arrochar Alps and Ben Lomond being identified: east and southeast, the hills of Ayrshire and Galloway shone slightly less white but inviting nevertheless. Even Ailsa Craig in the south donned a white cap today. Absolutely magnificent. 'Whaur's yer Canigu, noo?' someone was heard to ask and, yes, today's views were comparable with Mosset. We spent time at the Gladestane. 
View-wise, the rest of the walk was an anticlimax for we were now returning to sea level. The hills did remain in view but, from the low angle, they didn't have the same appeal. Interest was found in other things, though. We came down through the farm of Breakough. This was a mill at one time and Davie had us all in the yard looking at where the mill wheel used to be. ‘It’s some size’, said Ian. We hope he was referring to the mill wheel and not boasting again.
Further architectural interest was engendered when we came into Millport and along the front of the Garrison building. We noted, from closer distance than before, the original architectural features and the sympathetic restoration of the building. Peter was impressed.
We wandered through the town, along the shore and out to Davie’s favourite seat for lunch. (Who says the Ooters are creatures of habit?) A car was parked at the picnic area. Inside were two middle-aged women. Half way through our peece, one of the women leaned out of the drivers door, raised a flask above her head and shouted something about Last of the Summer Wine. She then disappeared back into the car and the two drove off. We never did find out what was in that flask.
We now had only four miles or so to walk and an hour and a half to do it in so it would be leisurely walk back. Well, for Peter and Ian it was to be a leisurely walk back. The rest shot off at a fair rate of knots. The fast groups suggested Peter and Ian would be too busy blethering to put one foot in front of the other. They, on the other hand, thought the fast group already had the smell of ale in their nostrils and had started a stampede. We were to be at the ferry terminal before the two groups came together ag
ain.The fast group included the birders and they were at it now. Ducks and ducks and more ducks. Then geese, the same gaggle as we had seen earlier. Then some wee things prancing about in the water. Then more ducks.* They were enthralled and started ornithologising. Yet Rex never let the conversation get too serious. He certainly was on good form today.
The lifebelt was found by Rex. We suspected it might have been removed from the ferry terminal by some scallywag or other who found it too heavy to carry round the island. We offered to help Rex carry it back but, being a tough Aussie, he declined our offer. (That’s our story and we are sticking to it.) He carried it back himself, all the way to the terminal.
We just missed the two o’clock ferry and had a few minutes to wait for the next one. Then Peter and Ian joined us.
FRT was administered in our Largs local today.
* Note from the birders: Eider, Mallard, Widgeon, Red-breasted Merganser, Pink-footed goose, feral goose, Cormorant, Herring Gull, Black-headed Gull, Lesser Black-backed Gull, Carrion Crow, Jackdaw, Oystercatcher, Curlew, Redshank, Stonechat, Robin, Redwing, Blackbird, Chaffinch, Greenfinch, Blue Tit and Great Tit were all seen at different times today.
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