Monday, January 04, 2010

An early morning wardrobe malfunction.

Alan, Phil and I convened at the Ardrossan ferry terminal for the Arran ferry. We arrived just after 6am for the 7am ferry. We loaded 3 kayaks onto my car and were just about to get in when Alan remembered he had forgotten his dry suit. As it was minus 10.5C when I left my house, we thought a dry suit might be a useful part of his apparel for the day. He calmly decided to drive back to Ayr to get it.

Unfortunately he missed the ferry by just 3 minutes, so Phil and I off loaded his gear and kayak at Brodick and left it for him to collect when he got off the next ferry some 2 hours and 40 minutes later. He was going to paddle round Holy Island.

In the meantime Phil and I drove over to Arran's west coast via the String road which ascends to 234m. At the top the snow was banked on either side of the road. We got a great view of Goatfell, 874m, in the pre dawn light.

Arriving on the west coast we could see Sanda and Kintyre away to the SW.

We arrived at the outflow of the Iorsa Water, under the snow covered slopes of Beinn Bharrain 717m.

The sun rose just as we got ourselves ready, we could hardly feel our fingers by this time.


  1. I hope he offered to buy the curries to make up for that!

  2. After several days of meeting or seeing no one, a friend and I arrived on the summit of Ben Bharrain, where we met a group of guys and shared lunch with them. Peculiarly they turned out to be Jehovah's Witnesses, and attempted to 'save' us. I think I still have the lovely 'you're all doomed' leaflet that they gave us, stored in a drawer somewhere.

    Mark R

  3. Even better he still chipped in a third for the car on the ferry!

    Don't feel sorry for Alan, he had a great day on his own. He went down round Holy Island and saw a monk and two otters!

    Then we picked him up at the ferry terminal on our way home.


  4. Mark that's an amazing coincidence! I was saved by a van load of Jehovah's Witnesses on Arran. I had dislocated my knee in a minor way on sou'wester slabs on Cir Mhor. It took a long time to hobble back down Glen Rosa and I was sure I was going to miss the last ferry as I half ran, half hobbled down the road from the campsite to the ferry. I was bundled into the back of their van and I lay on the floor with my heavy rucksack holding me down. My arms and legs waved about helplessly, like an upturned tortoise, as they attempted to save me. Fortunately the driver was a demon and it was a short journey. The saving had to stop prematurely but I made the ferry.