The
heavy overnight rain and the dismal grey sky had at least one of us wondering
about the sense of spending the money going to Arran just for a soaking but the
met office promised that the day would clear so all six who gathered at
Ardrossan harbour boarded the ferry for the island. With the cloud hanging down
to around the thousand contour it decided that the high tops would wait for a
better day and when Davie Mc suggested a ‘low level’ walk on the west side of
the island, his suggestion was readily accepted. So, when we arrived in
Brodick, we boarded a bus that bumped and swung its way round the narrow coast
road of the island to our starting point at Thundergay (or Thunderguy or
Thunderguay depending where you read it). The sun arrived at Thundergay around
the same time as the bus but a biting northerly kept the temperature down and
we set off immediately to work up a heat against the blow.
The
steep climb to Corrie Lochan took its toll on legs stiff from sitting in cars,
ferry then bus for the best part of three hours in some cases and we might have
taken our time to climb to the wee lochan. But Robert had other ideas and set
off up the slope at a fair old lick leaving the rest of us trailing on behind.
Still we did have a few opportunities to look behind us down to Thundergay and
over the sea to Knapdale and Kintyre. That the snow of last month must have
been really bad on the island was witnessed by the first patch that we
encountered lying in the burn gorge under a broken birch tree and still around
three feet deep. We would meet more snow further up.
We
found Robert having elevenses sitting hunkered down behind a low bank by the
shore of the Corrie Lochan, the only shelter from the wind that he could find, so
we joined him. As we sat we could see a path rise up the slope to our left, a
path that we were to take after coffee, a path that rose into one of the great
patches of snow that dotted the hillside even this late in the year. So, after
coffee, we took to this path, Robert still setting a fair old pace upward.
The
snow was of concrete consistency when we reached it and walking up it was a
pleasure, like walking on the pavement of the high street, and all would have
been idyllic but for the evil northerly that bit the face and rattled the
windproof jackets. But we would not be
in that wind for too long now for we had reached our highest point of the day
at around the twelve hundred contour. The sun continued to shine and the wind
had driven the clag from the high tops and when we reached our high point we
had a great view into the ‘back’ side of The Castles, A’Chir and Ben Tarsuinn.
But the high toppers we not too disappointed today for if the wind was this
strong down here, what might it be like a thousand feet higher? So we contented
ourselves by crossing the high point and coming to the side of Glen Catacol.
As
soon as we dropped away from the col we lost the wind and the day turned quite pleasant.
Not so the underfoot conditions though. At first we had to contend with
landslips which cut away the path, landslips which looked quite new from the
pristine white boulders that littered the way. But all crossed these slips without
too much trouble and we came to the floor of the glen. Now, he who knows these
things said that we were only a few hundred yards from Loch Tanna and a visit
there would be a fine thing. We believed him. (Again???? – Ed) So our footsteps
were turned southward towards the loch. The path ran out and we came on to what
is best described a sponge of moss and peat and very little grass, the
snow-melt and overnight rain making it extremely wet and slimy. Slipping and
sliding and foul language as a backside found the wet peat was the norm on this
section to the head of the pass to Loch Tanna – slipping and sliding and
cursing and rising once more to the vertical to slither on as before.
Eventually enough was enough and we came to a halt and sat on as dry a spot as
we could find within viewing distance of the loch and had something to eat.
With
bodies and spirits refreshed we started back over the slime to find the head of
the Glen Catacol path. Now the going would be much easier. Or not! The path descended
steeply beside the burn and at first we were treated to a series of roaring waterfalls
and deep, cool-looking pools as we dropped with the path to the bottom of the
glen. Then the trouble started. The path crosses boulders – large boulders,
small boulders, stable boulders, shoogly boulders, round boulders, flat
boulders, many, many, many boulders. Jumping, hopping, stepping up and stepping
down was how we covered the next mile or so. Crossing two burns proved
difficult for some but the boulders proved the difficulty for most. Then,
eventually the boulders gave way to a nice flat, grassy path on the floor of
the glen in sight of the sea and we knew that our walk would soon be over.
We
came to the end of the glen at a wee car park beside the main road, turned
north and found ourselves outside The Catacol Bay Hotel. What more pleasant
place could we chose for FRT before catching the bus for Brodick and home
again.
As usual, we
met a few folk today: Maureen from Peebles on the bus: the Glasgow chap and his
friend in the hotel bar: But special mention must go to John and Rebecca from
Twickenham who, not only travelled to Arran from home by public transport but
followed our very footsteps all the way from the bus to Corrie Lochan and Glen
Catacol to the hotel bar. Good on them
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