Nine Ooters (Robert, Johnny, Allan, Ian, Macolm, Rex, Paul, Davie x 2) gathered at Allan's for scones and coffee and to make a decision on the day's walk.
The original plan to walk from Largs to the Hill of Stake had been more or less ruled out for fear of it becoming another Black Craig walk. Muirshiel to the near-mythical hill was the proposed alternative, but the day had dawned grey with low cloud, and after a vote(!!!) the decision was taken to go to Cumbrae instead. The vote had been 5-4 in favour of Cumbrae .... but the waters were then muddied when Allan tried to switch his vote from Cumbrae to Hill of Stake (Allan doesn't often vote for anything with "hill" in it) but his intervention was deemed ultra vires.
At this point Robert opined that what we needed was a "benevolent dictator". A few nodded sagely, but all opined that, by definition, Robert would obviously be ruled out from holding such a position.
Rather than the two men and a dog we expected to be waiting for the Cumbrae ferry, the slipway area was mobbed with scores of university students (budding biologists going to cut up fish) waiting to board the ferry. Strangely they were all lined up in twos, with a few holding hands. Whatever happened to the student anarchists of yesteryear? Some of the Ooters chose to line up behind the students, not holding hands so far as could be seen, whilst the erstwhile anarchists just stood at the top of the slipway, and consequently got the best seats.
Ian had a plan.
At the Water Sports Centre we were to leave the road around the island and cut overland towards the Glaidstone road. There was a track. We climbed to the top of Broomy Knowes (89 metres asl) but then the rains which had fallen in recent days all seemed to have accumulated on the path below Broomy Knowes and we had to pick our way around deep puddles and clawing red mud to get back to tarmac. Some were more successful than others in avoiding the perils of the track. In the best traditions of the Ooters, Ian got pelters. However, his retort that he had voted to go to the Hill of Stake soon silenced the critics.
Morning coffee was taken at the usual spot, atop the Glaidstone, now embellished with several new seats.
The rain which had stayed off so far now put in an appearance, but it was no worse than light drizzle. It transpired that Ian didn't have his waterproof jacket with him, but using the skills he no doubt learned in the BBs he created a fetching little black number out of a bin liner he had with him.
Millport resembled a ghost town with hardly anyone out and about. We decided to call in at the golf club for a refreshment but we were thwarted in our ambitions. Like Millport, it was shut.
We headed off through the fields to Fintray Bay where lunch was taken at the picnic tables by the shore. Today very few cyclists were out on the road, and cars were pretty infrequent too.
The walk ended, naturally, with a race to the ferry terminal.
FRT was taken at the Laurieston in Ardrossan.
This was a pleasant and relatively leisurely day out ... and we still have the Hill of Stake to look forward to!
Showing posts with label Glaidstane. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Glaidstane. Show all posts
Monday, 17 October 2011
Tuesday, 24 November 2009
11 November Cumbrae Again – Fifth Visit
(photo taken 27/12/2008)After the exertions of last week, it was decided to have an easy day today, easy but interesting. Where better fits the bill than the Isle of Cumbrae? So, after sampling Johnny’s hospitality again, eight of us made our way to Largs for the short crossing to the island that is becoming one of our favourites. And a biting northerly wind greeted us at the ferry slip. We hurried onto the ferry.
It has been said many times that the Ooters are creatures of habit, old boys set in their ways. Davie had thought of going anticlockwise round the island and cutting up one of the footpaths to the top of the Glaidstane but for some reason the front party turned left and so clockwise when we left the ferry – for this is the way we always go. Davie’s plans were abandoned.
We walked southward to the Scottish National Water-sports Centre. While we were now sheltered from the wind, it continued to ruffle the water a few yards offshore. A few hardy souls braved the wind and took to the water on sailboards. Partly silhouetted against the southern light, they formed a picturesque scene and presented the photographers with an opportunity for more prize-winning snaps. Rex had the camera out while the rest walked on.
We weren’t by the shore for long. Just beyond the water-sports centre a road rose to the right, a road that rose to the highest point of the island at the Glaidstane. We went this way.
An indication of things to come was given on the rise to the Glaidstane. Both Jimmy and Rex had appointments to keep this evening. Not that Jimmy was in a particular hurry; as long as he got back to Largs by half-past three he was happy. But Rex seemed to be in more of a rush and he set the pace on the climb. By the time we gained the corner where the bucket lorry was stuck on the ice the last time we were here, the party was split into two - Rex, Davie, Robert and Paul to the front and moving away, Jimmy, Johnny, Ian and Alan, giving in to gravity and burning legs, bringing up the rear. At least the speedsters had the decency to wait at the Glaidstane for the rest to catch up.
Coffee was taken at the Glaidstane. Though the wind still blew cool, the heat of the effort of the climb was still with us and we sat for a wee while over coffee. The view was improving all the time. We sat and watched a watery sun break through, silvering the water to the south and lighting the immediate landscape. We sat and watched the ducks on the lochan to the south – widgeon said he with the binoculars - and a flock of gulls feeding on the sea to the north. We sat and watched the Rothesay ferry crossing from Wemyss Bay. We sat and watched as the day brightened for us. We sat and watched for a while but eventually the cold wind got to us and we moved on.
We came down from the top of the island to Millport, Rex continuing to set the pace. And the weather continued to improve, the sun getting as strong as it can at this time of year. When we got to the shore, Jimmy was discovered to be missing. He had stopped to take a picture of the Cathedral of the Isles while we walked on and was now way behind. We waited for him in a seaside shelter. Jimmy took his time to get to us, having stopped for more pictures en-route but get to us, he did – eventually. Then, together again, we walked along the promenade of a very quiet Millport.
Quarter of an hour later Jimmy was missing again. This time it was buzzard-watch that detained him. Once again, we waited in a seaside shelter. And since we were seated there, we had lunch. Who says we are creatures of habit? Here we were having lunch somewhere other than our usual place on the picnic tables further round the coast. Set in our ways? Huh!
It was quarter past twelve when we finished lunch and stood up to continue the walk round the west side of the island. We were aiming for the half past two ferry. Six miles in two and quarter hours – no problems there then. An easy walk would take us there in around two hours, no need to hurry. But obviously some didn’t believe this. We started casually enough and even had time to see stonechats perching accommodatingly on the thorns and reeds for us. But then the speedsters started.
Almost imperceptibly, the pace had picked up to a briskness that was fast but comfortable. Then Robert and Johnny started playing silly buggers and broke into a competitive jog. We all increased the pace to keep up. Allan stopped for a call of nature and found himself well off the tail. Davie likewise a little later. Ian and Jimmy tried to keep up with the racers for a while but the pace was uncomfortably fast for them and they eased up. The fast ones kept up the racing speed and disappeared into the distance.
Davie was first to join the slower pair, having taken the best part of a mile to get there. Then Alan joined them and they walked at a much more comfortable pace for the rest of the day, taking time to look at the seascape and the wildlife.
Meanwhile, there was no let up at the front. Onward they sped. Then realising that the others weren’t with them, they sat down at the monument to the drowned sailors barely two hundred metres from the ferry terminal to wait for the slow. For a good ten minutes, they waited. The slow arrived at the monument in time to see the half past one ferry leave the slip. Even the tardy group had covered the best part of six miles in a little over an hour and a quarter. Much too fast for an enjoyable walk.
We took the two o’clock ferry back to the mainland and took FRT in McCabe’s Bar in Largs
For at least one of our number the speed of today’s walk was too much. ‘If it’s going to be like that next week, I’ll no’ be there’, said he. Most agree.
It has been said many times that the Ooters are creatures of habit, old boys set in their ways. Davie had thought of going anticlockwise round the island and cutting up one of the footpaths to the top of the Glaidstane but for some reason the front party turned left and so clockwise when we left the ferry – for this is the way we always go. Davie’s plans were abandoned.
We walked southward to the Scottish National Water-sports Centre. While we were now sheltered from the wind, it continued to ruffle the water a few yards offshore. A few hardy souls braved the wind and took to the water on sailboards. Partly silhouetted against the southern light, they formed a picturesque scene and presented the photographers with an opportunity for more prize-winning snaps. Rex had the camera out while the rest walked on.
We weren’t by the shore for long. Just beyond the water-sports centre a road rose to the right, a road that rose to the highest point of the island at the Glaidstane. We went this way.
An indication of things to come was given on the rise to the Glaidstane. Both Jimmy and Rex had appointments to keep this evening. Not that Jimmy was in a particular hurry; as long as he got back to Largs by half-past three he was happy. But Rex seemed to be in more of a rush and he set the pace on the climb. By the time we gained the corner where the bucket lorry was stuck on the ice the last time we were here, the party was split into two - Rex, Davie, Robert and Paul to the front and moving away, Jimmy, Johnny, Ian and Alan, giving in to gravity and burning legs, bringing up the rear. At least the speedsters had the decency to wait at the Glaidstane for the rest to catch up.
Coffee was taken at the Glaidstane. Though the wind still blew cool, the heat of the effort of the climb was still with us and we sat for a wee while over coffee. The view was improving all the time. We sat and watched a watery sun break through, silvering the water to the south and lighting the immediate landscape. We sat and watched the ducks on the lochan to the south – widgeon said he with the binoculars - and a flock of gulls feeding on the sea to the north. We sat and watched the Rothesay ferry crossing from Wemyss Bay. We sat and watched as the day brightened for us. We sat and watched for a while but eventually the cold wind got to us and we moved on.
We came down from the top of the island to Millport, Rex continuing to set the pace. And the weather continued to improve, the sun getting as strong as it can at this time of year. When we got to the shore, Jimmy was discovered to be missing. He had stopped to take a picture of the Cathedral of the Isles while we walked on and was now way behind. We waited for him in a seaside shelter. Jimmy took his time to get to us, having stopped for more pictures en-route but get to us, he did – eventually. Then, together again, we walked along the promenade of a very quiet Millport.
Quarter of an hour later Jimmy was missing again. This time it was buzzard-watch that detained him. Once again, we waited in a seaside shelter. And since we were seated there, we had lunch. Who says we are creatures of habit? Here we were having lunch somewhere other than our usual place on the picnic tables further round the coast. Set in our ways? Huh!
It was quarter past twelve when we finished lunch and stood up to continue the walk round the west side of the island. We were aiming for the half past two ferry. Six miles in two and quarter hours – no problems there then. An easy walk would take us there in around two hours, no need to hurry. But obviously some didn’t believe this. We started casually enough and even had time to see stonechats perching accommodatingly on the thorns and reeds for us. But then the speedsters started.
Almost imperceptibly, the pace had picked up to a briskness that was fast but comfortable. Then Robert and Johnny started playing silly buggers and broke into a competitive jog. We all increased the pace to keep up. Allan stopped for a call of nature and found himself well off the tail. Davie likewise a little later. Ian and Jimmy tried to keep up with the racers for a while but the pace was uncomfortably fast for them and they eased up. The fast ones kept up the racing speed and disappeared into the distance.
Davie was first to join the slower pair, having taken the best part of a mile to get there. Then Alan joined them and they walked at a much more comfortable pace for the rest of the day, taking time to look at the seascape and the wildlife.
Meanwhile, there was no let up at the front. Onward they sped. Then realising that the others weren’t with them, they sat down at the monument to the drowned sailors barely two hundred metres from the ferry terminal to wait for the slow. For a good ten minutes, they waited. The slow arrived at the monument in time to see the half past one ferry leave the slip. Even the tardy group had covered the best part of six miles in a little over an hour and a quarter. Much too fast for an enjoyable walk.
We took the two o’clock ferry back to the mainland and took FRT in McCabe’s Bar in Largs
For at least one of our number the speed of today’s walk was too much. ‘If it’s going to be like that next week, I’ll no’ be there’, said he. Most agree.
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