We made it to Arran this time and had a decent walk which, given the recent weather, the dreich morning and the poor forecast, was something of a minor miracle. The previous evening some had expressed doubts as to the sense of going so far and paying for the privilege of another soaking, but the hardy (foolhardy, some would say) amongst us convinced them we should go as planned. And so the journey to the island was made on the quarter to ten ferry. Given that, as we approached Brodick, we could barely see the bottoms of the high hills let alone the tops, Johnny’s suggestion of staying low was accepted and his choice of a long remembered walk to Dun Fion proved to be a good one.
To say the southbound bus was overcrowded would be something of an understatement. It would have done justice to the Indian railway system with all seats occupied and standing passengers taking up the length of the passage, luggage stowed where there was available space. But this didn’t seem to bother the driver who just asked folk to squeeze up the bus a bit and crowed more on. It did the job in carrying us over the hill, though, and depositing us in Lamlash.
We should have turned northward in Lamlash but biological necessity meant that we turned southward into the village to find a toilet, the public toilet at the wee pier that served the Holy Isle ferry. Whilst the weak-bladdered made themselves comfortable, the rest of us stood and watched as the wee ferry carried its cargo to the island in the bay. ‘Someday’, said one, ‘we will need to go there’. And possibilities were discussed while we waited for the old boys returning from their comfort stop.
Re-united now, we could turn tracks northward toward the high point of Dun Fion.
We walked along the shore road between the sea and a loose line of Victorian and Edwardian houses, built when money was plentiful (for some) and labour was cheap. Most stood in gardens the best part of an acre in extent, sloping down to the road and the sea. Many are past their best and some are in dire need of renovation, the old kirk being a case in point, and some have been replaced by modern houses, not quite as grand but equally large. Comments were made on each as we passed.
By this time it was after eleven and Davie (old Davie, for today we had young Davie Clunie with us again) called for a coffee – it was a long time since breakfast said he. So, at a picnic table on the grass between the road and the sea, we sat for our first coffee of the day.
After coffee we kept to the shore road for a bit. Jimmy and Davie at the front found the sign saying ‘Brodick by Dun Fion, 4 Miles’ and directing us up a lane away from the shore. Without thinking, they followed the sign. Without comment, we followed. The lane lifted us gradually to a path through a wee wood and this in turn took us on to a farm road. At a cottage by the roadside, a sign pointed us into a field where there was no obvious route. Jimmy asked the man working in the garden, ‘Is this the right way?’. ‘Depends where you want to go’, answered the wag. However, he directed us diagonally up through the field to a stand of whin behind which, said he, we would find a style and another path.
The wag was right, we found the style and the path as he described. Now we could see the dun rising on our right hand side. An information board beside the path described the dun and its possible occupation during the bronze/iron ages. Then it was just a short walk and a short, steep climb onto the dun itself.
The peregrine was spotted by the front pair, a male peregrine, gliding effortlessly on the updraft from the sea. As we climbed towards it, it was joined by a calling juvenile still expecting food from its parent. We watched the two of them drift away southward as we made the short climb into the dun itself.
Dun Fion occupies the high ground above the cliffs of Clauchlands Point and affords superb views of Arran’s east coast. To the south lay Lamlash Bay with the Holy isle brooding darkly under the heavy sky. To the north, across Brodick Bay, the high peaks of the northern hills rose into cloud that flat-topped them around the fifteen hundred contour. Below us, the sea rolled gently in the still air. ‘A perfect place for lunch’, said the hungry one, and on the short grass surrounding the trig point, we sat and took the peece. And as we tucked into the sandwiches, the hungry young peregrine still ‘mee-ewed’ at its parent from the crags below us while a potential snack of house martins swooped around us, themselves dining on a selection of insects quite invisible to us.
Away across the sea to the east, the Ayrshire coast was lit by sunshine but, and it was a big ‘but’, behind us a bank of rain- filled cloud swept in from the west obscuring first Glen Cloy and its surrounding hills, then the northern hills and the high ground above Lamlash and threatening to envelop us any time now. We donned the waterproofs and prepared to set off, just as the first of the drizzle hit us.
Back down the steep slope we came, back to the information board. The ‘sma’ rain’, as Davie called it, was as yet light and jackets could be opened a bit to allow the sweat to evaporate for, despite the dullness of the day, it was reasonably warm. But there was little evaporation and when the mizzle came heavier, jackets were fully zipped and hoods were raised against the wet. We would just have to thole the sweatiness.
The path we took next rose quite steeply and halted conversation for a bit as breath became short. And it took us up into the trees just as the worst of the drizzle came. We followed the path through the trees with the ‘sma’ rain’ easing, drying to nothing then coming again. This was the pattern for a while as we walked through the forest and on to the open ground of Clauchlands Hill. Now there was hope for a drier spell for from our vantage point we could see the mizzle begin to thin. Would we get a better afternoon? We hoped.
The path through the wood decanted us onto the Brodick-Lamlash road near its high point. Across the tarmac was the entrance to a forest road with a sign indicating a picnic area and telling us that Water of Cloy was two miles away and Brodick a further two. This would do us nicely.
By this time the drizzle had gone and jackets could be removed and we could walk up that forest road in relative comfort though there was little in the way of drying. Then, as the road cleared the trees for a bit, we were given fresh hope for the day for we could look down and see Brodick Castle in sunshine. And our mizzle was clearing away to the east showing the hills around Glen Cloy. ‘That looks like a walk for the future’, said one indicating the circle of heather clad hills around the glen. We added it to our ‘to do’ list and walked on down into the glen watching a waterfall cascade down the far slope. Then the drizzle came again.
Then the drizzle went and jackets came off. Then it came and jackets were put on. Then it went........ And so the day continued. Rain on, rain off. Jackets on, jackets off. And this is how we came down the forest road to the bridge on the Cloy Water.
The bridge over the Cloy Water ended the forest road but a well constructed path carried on. The path took us into the trees and all views were gone. Then we were out of the trees and on the floor of Glen Cloy. The first buildings that we had seen since leaving Lamlash took us by surprise. Around a traditional cottage were outbuildings roofed with turf, the grass growing some foot high. The naturalists among us thought this a great idea for it would provide a safe environment for insects. The artists were divided on the aesthetics while the philistines couldn’t care less one way or the other. We walked on past.
The next set of buildings we past were the holiday cottages of Auchrannie. Again the aesthetics of the buildings were debated and, in typical Ooters fashion, no conclusions were reached. We walked on.
We came into Brodick near its north end and wandered along the sea-front without undue haste making for Mac’s Bar to partake of the usual FRT.
Despite the drizzle, this was a good walk. Well done to Johnny for suggesting it and leading us so skilfully from behind. Dun Fion is certainly somewhere to be visited again.
Post scriptum
This was a day where we almost felt sorry for Peter. He had talked of a fish supper in Brodick even before we left the ferry this morning. And he talked of it frequently during the walk, almost salivating at the thought. But the FRT in Mac’s was good and we were reluctant to move. When the time came that we did move on, it was closing on ferry time. Those who went for a fish supper were disappointed to learn that the fish would take a few minutes to fry. They didn’t have a few minutes or they would miss the ferry. Poor Peter had to forgo the fish supper that he so looked forward to all day. We sympathised in the usual way
To say the southbound bus was overcrowded would be something of an understatement. It would have done justice to the Indian railway system with all seats occupied and standing passengers taking up the length of the passage, luggage stowed where there was available space. But this didn’t seem to bother the driver who just asked folk to squeeze up the bus a bit and crowed more on. It did the job in carrying us over the hill, though, and depositing us in Lamlash.
We should have turned northward in Lamlash but biological necessity meant that we turned southward into the village to find a toilet, the public toilet at the wee pier that served the Holy Isle ferry. Whilst the weak-bladdered made themselves comfortable, the rest of us stood and watched as the wee ferry carried its cargo to the island in the bay. ‘Someday’, said one, ‘we will need to go there’. And possibilities were discussed while we waited for the old boys returning from their comfort stop.
Re-united now, we could turn tracks northward toward the high point of Dun Fion.
We walked along the shore road between the sea and a loose line of Victorian and Edwardian houses, built when money was plentiful (for some) and labour was cheap. Most stood in gardens the best part of an acre in extent, sloping down to the road and the sea. Many are past their best and some are in dire need of renovation, the old kirk being a case in point, and some have been replaced by modern houses, not quite as grand but equally large. Comments were made on each as we passed.
By this time it was after eleven and Davie (old Davie, for today we had young Davie Clunie with us again) called for a coffee – it was a long time since breakfast said he. So, at a picnic table on the grass between the road and the sea, we sat for our first coffee of the day.
After coffee we kept to the shore road for a bit. Jimmy and Davie at the front found the sign saying ‘Brodick by Dun Fion, 4 Miles’ and directing us up a lane away from the shore. Without thinking, they followed the sign. Without comment, we followed. The lane lifted us gradually to a path through a wee wood and this in turn took us on to a farm road. At a cottage by the roadside, a sign pointed us into a field where there was no obvious route. Jimmy asked the man working in the garden, ‘Is this the right way?’. ‘Depends where you want to go’, answered the wag. However, he directed us diagonally up through the field to a stand of whin behind which, said he, we would find a style and another path.
The wag was right, we found the style and the path as he described. Now we could see the dun rising on our right hand side. An information board beside the path described the dun and its possible occupation during the bronze/iron ages. Then it was just a short walk and a short, steep climb onto the dun itself.
The peregrine was spotted by the front pair, a male peregrine, gliding effortlessly on the updraft from the sea. As we climbed towards it, it was joined by a calling juvenile still expecting food from its parent. We watched the two of them drift away southward as we made the short climb into the dun itself.
Dun Fion occupies the high ground above the cliffs of Clauchlands Point and affords superb views of Arran’s east coast. To the south lay Lamlash Bay with the Holy isle brooding darkly under the heavy sky. To the north, across Brodick Bay, the high peaks of the northern hills rose into cloud that flat-topped them around the fifteen hundred contour. Below us, the sea rolled gently in the still air. ‘A perfect place for lunch’, said the hungry one, and on the short grass surrounding the trig point, we sat and took the peece. And as we tucked into the sandwiches, the hungry young peregrine still ‘mee-ewed’ at its parent from the crags below us while a potential snack of house martins swooped around us, themselves dining on a selection of insects quite invisible to us.
Away across the sea to the east, the Ayrshire coast was lit by sunshine but, and it was a big ‘but’, behind us a bank of rain- filled cloud swept in from the west obscuring first Glen Cloy and its surrounding hills, then the northern hills and the high ground above Lamlash and threatening to envelop us any time now. We donned the waterproofs and prepared to set off, just as the first of the drizzle hit us.
Back down the steep slope we came, back to the information board. The ‘sma’ rain’, as Davie called it, was as yet light and jackets could be opened a bit to allow the sweat to evaporate for, despite the dullness of the day, it was reasonably warm. But there was little evaporation and when the mizzle came heavier, jackets were fully zipped and hoods were raised against the wet. We would just have to thole the sweatiness.
The path we took next rose quite steeply and halted conversation for a bit as breath became short. And it took us up into the trees just as the worst of the drizzle came. We followed the path through the trees with the ‘sma’ rain’ easing, drying to nothing then coming again. This was the pattern for a while as we walked through the forest and on to the open ground of Clauchlands Hill. Now there was hope for a drier spell for from our vantage point we could see the mizzle begin to thin. Would we get a better afternoon? We hoped.
The path through the wood decanted us onto the Brodick-Lamlash road near its high point. Across the tarmac was the entrance to a forest road with a sign indicating a picnic area and telling us that Water of Cloy was two miles away and Brodick a further two. This would do us nicely.
By this time the drizzle had gone and jackets could be removed and we could walk up that forest road in relative comfort though there was little in the way of drying. Then, as the road cleared the trees for a bit, we were given fresh hope for the day for we could look down and see Brodick Castle in sunshine. And our mizzle was clearing away to the east showing the hills around Glen Cloy. ‘That looks like a walk for the future’, said one indicating the circle of heather clad hills around the glen. We added it to our ‘to do’ list and walked on down into the glen watching a waterfall cascade down the far slope. Then the drizzle came again.
Then the drizzle went and jackets came off. Then it came and jackets were put on. Then it went........ And so the day continued. Rain on, rain off. Jackets on, jackets off. And this is how we came down the forest road to the bridge on the Cloy Water.
The bridge over the Cloy Water ended the forest road but a well constructed path carried on. The path took us into the trees and all views were gone. Then we were out of the trees and on the floor of Glen Cloy. The first buildings that we had seen since leaving Lamlash took us by surprise. Around a traditional cottage were outbuildings roofed with turf, the grass growing some foot high. The naturalists among us thought this a great idea for it would provide a safe environment for insects. The artists were divided on the aesthetics while the philistines couldn’t care less one way or the other. We walked on past.
The next set of buildings we past were the holiday cottages of Auchrannie. Again the aesthetics of the buildings were debated and, in typical Ooters fashion, no conclusions were reached. We walked on.
We came into Brodick near its north end and wandered along the sea-front without undue haste making for Mac’s Bar to partake of the usual FRT.
Despite the drizzle, this was a good walk. Well done to Johnny for suggesting it and leading us so skilfully from behind. Dun Fion is certainly somewhere to be visited again.
Post scriptum
This was a day where we almost felt sorry for Peter. He had talked of a fish supper in Brodick even before we left the ferry this morning. And he talked of it frequently during the walk, almost salivating at the thought. But the FRT in Mac’s was good and we were reluctant to move. When the time came that we did move on, it was closing on ferry time. Those who went for a fish supper were disappointed to learn that the fish would take a few minutes to fry. They didn’t have a few minutes or they would miss the ferry. Poor Peter had to forgo the fish supper that he so looked forward to all day. We sympathised in the usual way
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