Days three and four on Arran saw days of starkly contrasting weather.
A wet walk through the trees was as much as we could manage on Tuesday as the gale blew through. But on Wednesday we headed for the hills again – this time on the Eastern side of the island, climbing to reach the Deveil’s Punchbowl, above Sannox, before I fitted in a sneaky nine holes at Corrie.
Ella was “on one” all the way up, and was equally lively on the way down, not least when she growled at a fellw hiker who was planning to go way beyond where I had been and head on up Goat Fell. “Hopefully the clouds will lift” he said, “But I have a compass in case”. I am a lightweight in comparison, but I had other activities planned.
Golf was stunning. This was not a good walk spoiled so much as a fine stroll enhanced. The views from Corrie Golf Course are dramatic and the course is far better than I remember (unlike my golf). And to cap it all off I saw the tea room at the Golf Club was open. I was the only customer in their busy lunchtime and they served the finest BLT I can remember. Perfect.
This post has nothing to do with gardening as I am away. When I get back I will have more to say on the horticultural front and other family issues. This is simply my “what I did over the holidays” composition for when I get back to school. In the meantime I agree with the thoughts on this other blog which gives some idea of why people grow their own veg..been there dug that.
I’m in Arran for half term with the essentials in life for a good stay: my black labrador (to give me company as I trek over the hills) and a set of golf clubs (to accompany me on my walks across one of the seven golf courses on the island). Only Mrs B is lacking for the perfect scenario but she will join me at the end of the week: one always needs something to look forward to.
Columnar basalt
The weather for days one and two was perfect: clear blue skies and little or no wind. So the emphasis was on outdoor activities. We arrived at lunchtime on Sunday and went down to the beach at Blackwaterfoot. Ella was reticent at first, being spooked by wagtails amongst the rocks but, once she had paid her nervous respects to a dead seal, she was soon galloping across the sandy beach, chasing oystercatchers (into the water and over her head) and generally checking out all the olfactory diversions that the beach and headland offered.
Yesterday continued bright so we went to Lochranza in the north of the island to walk up the valley behind the distillery. I was planning to get up to Loch na Davie – reputedly the source of the purest water in Scotland – but having got about 2/3 of the way there, I decided it was time to head back and see what the distillery did with all that pure water. On the way up it was still frozen so I could skip across many of the more boggy parts although Ella managed to find the deep end of an increasing number of squelchy areas on the way back down.
The afternoon was spent in splendid isolation on the golf course at Blackwaterfoot. Ella was sound asleep in the house and there was no one else on the course when I started. Bliss.
Not that it is all entirely easy-going. Today, the weather has turned vile: windy and wet and even the sheltered woodland walk we took was damp and still occasionally very blowy. But it gives me the excuse to stay in and write up my diary (this blog) and get other stuff done.
5th green at Shiskine
And speaking of writing, I woke up so cold on the first night I was tempted to write a letter to Mrs B along the lines of Robert Falcon Scott (what a middle name that was) “make the boy interested in natural history if you can; it is better than video games”. But I survived that urge and managed to see some interesting fauna on my walks: a hen harrier that drifted over the car when we driving back from the beach and another pair as we rested near Loch na Davie. And as we neared the distillery on our way back, I turned to see a pair of Golden Eagles just taking flight above where we had walked. It is an image lodged in my mind and – uncoincidentally – embossed on every bottle of Arran whisky. I had to buy a bottle just to sample what they do with that lovely pure water.
Lochranza
Moving up the valley
Classic streams
Still frosty
Icy and pure
Loch na Davie is up there somewhere
Black is the new Ginger
Looking back
Eagle over Lochranza
Perfect golf
Mini glacier
Both balls in play – just
And the rocks are lethally icy
Weird – there wasn’t a water hazard here last time
It’s been a busy half of term. There have only been a few weeks, but the weekends have been full of school-related activities and if they have not been happening it has probably been because of another popularly-named storm making itself unpopular with the populace, and any garden-related activity virtually impossible.
So on Friday I broke up for half term and, before packing my bags to take my daughter back to Liverpool and my black labrador to Arran, I did manage to quickly throw some chilli seeds and – more importantly – some tomato seeds into some trays. This was in an effort to get early germination and (hopefully) avoid the sumer-long needling from Mrs B about how late our tomatoes were compared with those down in the village. We’ll see.
Not chitting you
Earlier, before school, I had laid our seed potatoes out in the morning – yes the perfect way to prepare for the day: chit, shower and shave. Potato Day had been a week or two earlier and I had been rather slow in get my littler chitters out of their bags. Well, they weren’t going to get good strong shoots in a brown paper bag were they? (No chit Sherlock). This year we have gone for some regulars: Bell de Fontenay, Cherie and Anya; we have had to change our Sarpo as they did not have Una, and we have gone Axona for the blight-resistant main crop, and this year’s “guest Spud” is Arran Victory – named in 1918 for apparently obvious reason. So I have driven north feeling that stuff can be going on in my absence.
