by Norman_Grieve » Sat Feb 11, 2012 3:35 pm
Time seemed to slip awa all too quickly having left the hoose back o' 7am, leaving ma sad steed behind untethered at a hidden secret city bolthole. I even broke into a jog for the wee pathless stretch alongside the dual carraigeway passing under Union St., thence arriving at the station, breathing a sigh o' relief as the wan lassie at the ticket booth left it vacant.
I then frantically tried to fill in the wee Sainsbury's coupon without success as my pen refused tae work, as precious time continued to slip through my fingers, nae just metaphorically. Thankfully the official kindly lent me his quill and I handed over the paltry £19 for the period return tae Ardrossan, noting as I dashed awa clutching ma tickets that a sizeable queue had already built up behind moi - always someone less fortunate than yersen huh?
Just in the nick o' time I found the southbound Glasgie train hidein' awa up the north end o' the northbound platform. We pulled awa seconds later under driech cauld grey skies and I text ma Snr. Safety Officer me rough plan A. Seconds later, nae less than the ferocious supervisor hersel' tb tellin' moi that havin' just had a crackin' icy day on The Cobbler she wanted tae come along for the ride. I hastily replied that as Olga the glamourous Ukranian tractor fermer's daughter was in tow, I was concerned that the Green Eyed Monster might make an appearance - twa's company, trois a crowd an' all...
Apparently somewhat miffed at this snub, yon FS then teld moi that she was sure Olga was nae less than an inflatable sheep, which ah kept in ma pocket! I assured her that this was not the case, not least due to concerns over minimising weight and that I was surprised that she would think her company less attractive to me than an inflatable ruminant... It soon started to get light but remained very gloomy, although the mist seemed tae be well up the Angus hills flashing past, as did the snow. Not lang after we left Dundee I spied a fine, large bushy tailed fox bounding awa across the school playing fields outside the window. After speeding thru' Gleneagles station, departure point o' ma last twa trips, I failed to spot Ben Clach up tae the right but the snowline on the Ochils to the left was much higher up than a week earlier.
A goodly number o' Saturday morning shoppers got on at Stirling, with a high proportion of silver haired penshioners, wan auld fella squeezin' in beside moi. I'd read just a few more pages of Elmore Leonard's latest offering Djibouti, then we were pulling into Queen St. bang on 10.15am. I walked downhill along Buchanan St., shortly being accosted by a comely young wench who said she just wanted a minute o' ma time. Most reluctantly I explained I had a train tae catch & pointing right, asked if that was the way tae the Central station, which she confirmed it was with a wry smile.
At the first set o' barriers beyond the vast concourse inside I asked a railwayman where tae catch the train tae Ardrossan, being helpfully directed round tae the right, where I eventually presented ma ticket tae a couple more bods guarding access tae platform 12. I climbed aboard the train, then mindful of my mistake the last time I'd been here 3 months earlier, asked a lady cleaning up the carriage if it was the train tae Ardrossan. She replied that no, this was the train fae Largs, to which I said I thought that train stopped at Ardrossan, which she then confirmed it did indeedy...
I then text my bruvver who had arranged tae meet me at Glasgie Central, informing him that I was noo aboard yon train, fully expecting that he would still be in Edinburgh. However, he surprised moi by boarding the train a minute or so later. We soon got in conversation with an oil worker who it transpired had also just come doon fae Airberdin and was likewise bound for Arran. There then began a series of wee disputes about various times, routes & distances of buses & ferries, to which the guy professed that having lived on the island for over 20 years, he must be right, despite my repeated production of a scrap o' paper on which I'd written the relevant times down.
Fortunately I just aboot managed tae keep me cool, as the guard teld us that the train we were on didnae go tae the ferry terminal, which was a 15-20 min. walk fae the nearest station we'd pass through and the promised rain had noo arrived with a vengeance. Our fellow traveller then kindly offered us a lift in his taxi, which he said he was getting on expenses frae his employers. He was getting off early at Saltcoats and we followed for the ride along the front, where the sea was splashing right up onto the road, which should've been a warning of a rough crossing ahead.
Despite this, arriving at the terminal & purchasing our 5 day return ferry tickets tae Brodick, for the same princely £8 as I'd paid at the end o' Sept. tae Craignure on Mull, we tucked into tea and scones with strawberry jam. The ship soon appeared through the large bay windows and we traipsed after our new chum, who stood at the head of the boarding queue out in the wind & rain, as the big boat disgorged it's cargo of vehicles & foot passengers.
Once aboard my younger sibling made straight for the cafeteria to get the fish & chips, of which he'd talked of little else since leaving Glasgie. I settled for a wee can o' ma ain mackerel, as we cast off into the tempest, the ship soon beginning to heave this way & that, my bruvver's stomache evidently doing the same, as his appetite rapidly deserted him. He then made a dash for the khazi as I called after him that we were shortly going tae reach land, where we had only a few minutes tae catch the waiting bus round the north end o' the island.
Sure enough, no sooner had he disappeared than an announcement came over the tannoy that we would soon be disembarking, presumably due to the inclement conditions, this would be via a climb doon tae the cardeck. MP reappeared, looking rather green around the gills a few minutes later, thence we were soon handing in our boarding cards to a hi-vis bod, as we walked doon the gangplank out into the wind & rain. MP remarked 'Oh sh*t!', at the deluge, soon discovering that he'd left his fleece behind in Edinburgh. I assured him that one we arrived at Pirnmill there would be a miraculous improvement in conditions, having watched the latest radar forcast during the crossing.
We soon found a line of waiting buses hidden behind the visitor centre, although were somewhat discomfitted that none appeared tae be bound for Lochranza & Pirnmill, the latter being oor intended destination. After standing around in the lashing rain & wind for a couple o' minutes, whilst twa drivers readied wan o' the twa buses apparently bound for the south end o' the island, we were mercifully let aboard, it being confirmed that it was in fact headed to the north. I reluctantly forked out £4.90 for a day return ticket, thinking that if I just coughed up for a single MP might doubt my intentions to get back in time for the last ferry, as nominally planned.
Not long after we set off up the coast, passing what looked like a stone statue of a seal on a rock just off the shingle beach near Corrie. I recalled that we'd seen some impressive large desert dune-bedding in the cliffs along here on my first visit nearly 30 years earlier, with some even more memorable large fossil brachiopod covered sea cave roofs. Another mile or so onward led through Sannox at the foot of the glen o' the same name, which brought back memories of barytes mines and a very boggy mile or so, carrying my 2 wee older daughters, having walked up Glen Rosa and over the col between the precipitous Cir Mhor and North Goat Fell, nearly 25 years ago.
The bus then rode up lower Glen North Sannox and ground it's way up to the col with Glen Chalmadale, down the steep sides of which wee streams tumbled in spate, as we wound down the glen and turned the corner round left to reach Lochranza. An impressive new distillery lay on the left as we approached the village, followed by the large, refurbished, whitewashed but closed Youth Hostel, then the rather expensive looking, smart, whitewashed hotel.
Just before leaving the village we passed the ferry terminal for routes over to the Kintyre peninsular, thence a mile or so round the headland through the wee hamlet of Catacol, which I noted also sported a rather smaller, possibly cheaper whitewashed hotel. Over the bridge at the foot o' Glen Catacol, we then swung right around the far side of the bay and along the rollercoaster wee road, tightly hugging the shoreline the last few miles to what I guessed might be Pirnmill. This confirmed by the driver, he dropped us at what he said was 'downtown central', as we alighted beside the Post Office, near the end of a long string of whitewashed cottages.
Right on cue the rain stopped, the sun came out & the mist cleared off, just as I'd always said it would. MP then suggested going on a downtoun shopping trip but soon changed his mind when I pointed oot that it was already 20 mins tae 3pm & added that I thought the last bus back tae catch the last ferry was at aound 6pm. Reassuring wee bro that I'd plenty of chocolate bars & sweeties, we set off up alongside the amazing raging torrent that was the Allt Gobhlach, only tae immediately halt again for a photo.
In view of the time I mentioned that we really couldn't afford any navigational [or indeed other forms of], f*ck ups, thence directly discovered that we were walking into someone's back garden. Cutting sharp back left we managed to find the track we'd intended taking, without having to return to the road. We then followed this round a sharp bend back right and up to where a wee green sign indicated a path leading off right towards some woods. After following this for a few paces I thought better of it, having no idea where it might lead, then followed the track back left to just short of a farm.
Here we bypassed the farm, cutting off a grassy wee track to the right, only to pass back left behind the farm to return to the main track when it soon petered out. We then followed this up and round a sharp left bend, passing below another wee farm, to finally leave the track for good just before reaching a stream, which we followed up to the right. Another grassy wet track led up through a couple of gates, this too petering out before we reached the open hillside. The going remained reasonably good, the moderate slopes lying back further as we gained height, with some assistance fae wee animal tracks.
Our objective Mullach Buidhe appeared out of the mist over to our right, the summit hiding behind it's steep, narrow, pinnacled NW spur, the sharp rocky peak of Beinn Bharrain lying to it's right, across the bowl of Coire Roinn. There was surprisingly little snow and the NNW ridge of Beinn Bharrain looked an attractive route but reaching it did not, in view of the formidable barrier of the raging Allt Gobhlach. Nevertheless, after crossing the very full right branch of the wee stream, we angled slanting gradually rightwards, over the increasingly tussocky, rather boggier going towards that torrent. A dozen or so Red Deer came into view and ambled up the hillside to the left for a couple o' hunnerd yards, then halted, correctly deciding that we weren't that much o' a threat tae worry aboot.
MP had fallen back a bit, despite his earlier remark on how it seemed strange to be simply walking for once, as he's a keen fell runner. As I drew alongside the fearsome watercourse, just beyond it's confluence with the second of twa streams draining Coire Roinn, I joined a boggy wee path, possibly the continuation of that we'd seen earlier, signposted fae the track. Although a good bit smaller than down by the road, I still didn't fancy attempting to cross the Allt Gobhlach just yet and followed the muddy wee path up to the left, as I spotted MP using his camera phone to video me, the sun having made a brief reappearance.
After a few hundred yards we hit another barrier, as a big tributary came in fae the left, which I followed up for another hundred yards or so, until, with it bending back further left, I decided we couldn't afford to lose any more time on the diversion and took a flying leap over the swollen burn. Looking back I could see that wee bruvver had already done the same and I cut back right to soon reach the Allt Goblach once more. The crossing of this now looked rather more doable, given it's reduced flow here and having got into the swing of things, I soon repeated my earlier feat and found mesen unscathed on the far bank.
Wee bro had soon followed and we began to climb the more heathery, drier, slightly steeper slopes, cutting across a bend to the north in the burn to our left. We were now passing below the fearsome looking, knife-edged, pinnacled NW ridge of Mullach Buidhe, the approach to which was guarded by steep scree slopes. The gentle angle lay back yet further as we followed then easily crossed another tributary of the Allt Goblach, then carried on up the gently rising floor of Glas Choirein, the deep, wide corrie nestling between Beinn Bhreac to our left and Mullach Buidhe to our right.
We glimpsed the col above the steep, scree covered headwall at the head of the corrie, before it vanished behind a veil of mist once more. Wee bro asked me if we were headed up towards a lochan, to which I replied in the affirmative, then questioned why I was veering so far left, so with the weather closing in, I turned more rightwards, up rather steeper, drier heathery slopes, to close the gap which had developed between us.
Reaching the crest of a wee ridge, the predicted wee lochan then appeared below us, the much steeper slopes above rising up into the mist. The scattered wee snow patches which had already appeared now became more continuous, although just a thin covering, with wee icy boulder fields covering an increasing proportion of the hillside as we gained height. Thus any attempt to avoid these obstacles soon became futile, the boulders themselves becoming larger and more awkward to negotiate, making for slow exhausting progress. By now an icy rain & wind had whipped up and it was becoming rather unpleasant.
Wee bro had again dropped back, shooting more footage on his wee cameraphone gadget thingy. Thus for the first time serious doubts began to surface in my mind whether my Plan A, to bag the high sub2k Marilyn Meall nan Damh, awa tae the north of secondary objective, HUMP and near Graham Beinn Bhreac, was going tae be possible in time tae catch yon bus back to the last ferry... I was relieved to emerge the other side of the upper icy boulder field unscathed and it wasn't long before the steep grass & gravel above lay back and I arrived on the ENE ridge of Mullach Buidhe some little way above the Bealach an Fharaidh.
MP soon appeared fae the mist doon below me and as we turned right up the ridge a Raven cawed loudly, passing just below to our right. The rain had now stopped and the mist cleared off to reveal the steepening summit ridge, adorned with several wee snowfields. Over to our left views opened up over sizeable Loch Tanna just down below, over upper Glen Iorsa to the line of peaks stretching fae Caisteal Abhail in the north to Beinn Nuis in the south. The snow along their flanks stretching up into the mist still clinging to the tops, seemed to reach rather further down than where we had just ascended.
It continued to brighten up as we climbed, crossing the softish largest snowfield diagonally rightwards, the sun coming out, low down behind the sizeable cairn and trig point, as we breasted the summit slopes. Despite a very stiff breeze I managed the traditional mounting of the OS column but eschewed a Brucie pose on elf & safety grounds. It was now 4.30pm, having taken 1 hr 50 mins for the ascent and I reckoned we'd probably only another 1/2hr or so of daylight remaining. However, a fairly full moon had now put in an appearance in the east, thus I was loath to hotfoot back doon tae Pirnmill.
Retracing our route of ascent back doon tae the Bealach an Fharaidh I rather expected wee bro tae drop off down to the left back into Glas Choirein, as he seemed rather keener to get back hame that evening but I was glad to see he carried on up the well worn path up the gentle slopes beyond the col. We'd glimpsed the summit of Beinn Bhreac earlier fae Mullach Buidhe and at only 30ft lower, the climb was probably the same again, given a slight descent over point 625m, not long after leaving the col. It didn't seem such a climb however, the left curving ridge being a fair bit longer but gentler, again having some large soft snow patches tae cross towards the summit.
The mist had again descended as we reached the huge summit cairn, which was built upon several rounded granite outcrops, with characteristic deep rounded wide cracks betwixt. The time was now just after 5pm, it having taken 1/2hr to traverse the ridge fae Mullach Buidhe and with under an hour 'til the bus was due, it was increasingly clear that we were going tae miss it. We then followed the remarkably large path, for a Graham, down the easy angled north ridge, with a slight rise after dropping a couple o' hunnerd feet, bypassing pt. 653m to the right. Not far below we dropped out o' the mist again and I took a final snap across the deep, craggy bowl of Coirein Lochain, with Coire-Fhionn Lochan nestling at it's foot, wondering if it was going tae come out, as it was by now pretty dark, despite the near full moonlight.
After a slightly steeper section the ridge levelled out again, only to lead to a craggy nose, where there were a couple of rock steps, made more interesting by a thin coating of verglas. I pointed out what I thought was the sub2k Marilyn Meall nan Damh, across a broad col, MP asking if we were still going to climb it. I thought I'd better come clean with him - better late than never - and teld him that we didnae hae time if we were going tae catch yon bus... The slopes remained pretty steep below the rocks and I for one was glad of the path, which zig-zagged through the heather.
Wee bruvver had noo cottoned on to the urgency regarding the bus catching situation and his lead stretched over moi, as I gingerly made ma way doon the steepish, rougher section o' path, which turned left below the col, heading towards the moonlit north shore of Coire-Fhionn Lochan. After squelching through a few pools of water, nestling in a trench cut by the path, I finally decided to put on my 150 lumens Silverpoint headtorch, in which I had cunningly inserted new batteries for just such an eventuality. Beyond the mouth of the lochan the path improved dramatically, having clearly been recently resurfaced with gravel.
However, my improved speed was still not high enough for fell-runner MP, who had apparently, somewhat belatedly discovered a timepiece and pointed oot that we now had 20 mins tae reach the road, being singularly unimpressed when I rather too cheerfully responded 'Oh well, we're f*kced then'! Continuing down the path alongside the Uisge Soluis Mhoir, things slowed doon wance more, despite the powerful headtorch, as we reached a rock step. Not long after wee bro got a call fae his American wifey, who he soon put on to moi, who insisted that we had to catch the last ferry. I replied that as the connecting bus was probably passing by as we spoke and we'd still got aboot a mile tae go, this seemed most unlikely tae happen...
I suggested, rather too late, tae wee bro that he might like tae do his fell running bit on the unlikely offchance that the bus might be late but this didnae seem to cut any ice. The ground soon levelled out for a stretch and the path bore right, then back tae easily cross the Uisge Soluis Mhoir, the level o' which was surprisingly low, given the swollen raging torrents of our ROA, just an hour or so earlier. The path then began to descend more steeply once more, cutting across the hillside above the wooded ravine of the stream, here named the Allt Mor, following the confluence with the Allt Dubh.
After passing through a couple of gates we arrived at the wee collection of farm buildings & mill, comprising Mid Thundergay, a name tae conjure with. A short descent along the wee lanie then suddenly brought us tae the coast road, most unexpectedly, as it was by now too dark tae make oot the sea just beyond. Having missed the bus by 20 mins, we noo set out northwards, wee bruvver soon berating moi for my snails pace, allegedly only 1mph! It soon emerged that he was most concerned aboot his ancient wee doggie, which was on a special diet, which apparently only he could prepare.
I pointed out that no matter how fast I walked the ferry would have left by the time we reached Catacol, some 3 miles distant and that in any case I couldnae see anyone being prepared tae give us a lift tae the ferry, given the forty-odd mile round trip. However, he remained adamant that he could produce a big enough bribe to induce a Michael Schumacher-like dash tae the port fae the locals. I remained unconvinced, believing that our only hope was for a car to pass sharpish & offer us an unlikely lift tae Brodick but in the event not a single car passed the whole way there. Thus I maintained my cheery acceptance of the hopeless situation, remarking on what a braw, bricht, moonlit nicht it was the nicht, or words tae that effect.
Just as my feet were starting tae get weary of the hard surface the lights of Catacol appeared across the bay of the same name and we were crossing the bridge across the foot o' the glen, also with the same moniker. Past a wee line of wee whitewashed cottages, we reached the likewise whitewashed wee Catacol Bay Hotel and were soon safely inside propping up the bar. After I'd supped ma first pint o' the black stuff for 18 months & MP had dooned a Landlord's, he announced that he was ready tae leave for Lochranza, as the bar wasnae lively enough & the toun too wee, being o' the wan horse variety.
Although noting that the talent was rather limited, ma saire feet didnae encourage moi tae leave the cosy bar, where I'd nearly spilt yon Guinless when sinking into the deep, soft sofa. Thus I councilled that it was well kent that hereabouts, once you'd left a place, seeking pastures greener, the hosts would be so affronted that you'd nae be welcomed back. Thus we compromised that we'd enquire as tae the price o' a bed for the nicht and tak it fae there, wee bro taking this onerous responsibilty on himself, soon discovering that it were the princely sum o' £25, including breakie. Whilst he ummed & aahed I interjected that this was the same as I'd paid for a bunkhouse, room only the previous end o' August and that we'd no get cheaper, the YHA being closed for the week.
Wee bro then ordered his 2nd slap up meal o' the day, as I wondered whether he'd be able tae keep this wan doon better than the last... We then embarked on my longest drinking session since being plied with lager by fisherman Jason on ma retreat fae Oban bothy, going doon the length o' Loch Morar back at the beginning of August. This threatened tae come to a premature halt as the goatie sporting barman announced that the bar was closed, then burst intae an uproarious fit o' laughter, as he teld moi he was only kidding!
MP was by noo starting tae fret that he mebbe was missing his cherished Motd footie highlights and was keen to check oot the residents lounge, in case somewan should bag the telly before us. Whilst he was awa getting shown the whereaboots o' the said TV room, I made my way tae the bar in order to lay in supplies for the night, having apparently discovered a long lost taste for the hard stuff. Once again yon wee young goatie adorned barman teld moi the bar was shut but I turned tae the equally young lassie propping up the bar, stating that ah wasnae falling for that wan again, prompting another fit o' guffaws fae the comedic barman.
As a nightcap I decided tae gang for a wee dram o' Lochranza whisky, which didnae meet the approval o' goatie-man, as he teld moi it wasnae even made on the island and it was sh*te, so's I should go for the Isle of Arran malt. A local chipped-in that it couldnae be sh*te or they wouldnae sell it and as I noticed the malt was £3.95 a nip, nearly twice the price o' the Lochranza I decided tae stick with ma initial descision, much to the disapproval o' wee goatie.
Exit stage left fae the bar & climbing the stairs I finally discovered the residents lounge, where wee bro handed me the remote, telling moi that he couldnae work it. Neither could I, so I descended once more tae the bar to get some assistance, wee bro concerned that he might already have missed some vital goal. After climbing the stairs wance mair with the downtrodden wee lassie in tow, we reentered the haven o' the TV room, only to discover that Prof. MP had finally got the damned gadget tae work.
However, as it turned oot we had tae sit through an interminable sequence o' Scottish Cup games 1st, Motd nae starting 'til midnight, thus wee bro almost immediately fell asleep, as did I, shortly after the start o' MotD. Thus I saw just the first few of Arsenal's 7 goals vs Blackburn, the only score I already knew, having stopped wee bruvver earlier divulging the rest o' the scores which he'd got off his smartphone.
Sometime after the cherished program had finished MP woke me up and showed me where our room was, where I slumped doon on the double, then being directed tae the single bed as wee bro had apparently already baggsed it.
After an early awakening, as is usual with an excess of alcohol I eventually fell once more into a fitfull sleep. When I opened mein eyes wance more it was morning and as wee bruvver was by noo also awake I asked him when he'd teld our hosts that we would be doon for breakie. He replied that was scheduled for 8.45am, which I said I thought might be cutting it a wee bit fine, given that the bus was due an hour later. Not long thereafter I was seated at the table sipping ma pineapple juice, admiring the view across the Sound of Bute to Kintyre, of P. McCartney fame.
Following a fine bowl of porridge, a real treat then arrived in the shape o' four large whole Loch Fyne Kippers, which was followed by lashings of tea, toast & marmalade. As predicted I then saw that time had been slipping awa rather too quickly once again, leaving just enough time to attend tae ma ablutions, then grab my gear, once downstairs finding wee bro coming back in thru the front door tae look for moi, exclaiming that the elusive bus was coming round the bay.
Last edited by
Norman_Grieve on Tue Feb 21, 2012 5:11 pm, edited 11 times in total.
