A fitful night’s sleep because of the noise from the strong wind, evidenced by a nearby tent reduced to a mangled heap of poles. My ribs are a little sore due to taking the weight of my pack round my chest instead of my hips.
It’s an exhilarating start to the day, picking my way across a lovely beach, with the sun on my back, dark clouds ahead, the wind in my face, and more seals basking on the rocks.
I branch off the path to get a closer look at a distant waterfall. There’s something irresistible about the sound of tumbling water.
Approaching Bennan Head, the sand is replaced by boulders, gradually increasing in size, finally forcing me to abandon my poles and scramble across.
There would be no way round the headland at high tide, but I’m lucky with my timing, climbing round and into the imposing Black Cave.
I’m stripped to my t-shirt now, despite the cold wind, due to the exertion of scrambling. The rocks are replaced by a rough track, overgrown with shoulder-high ferns, with hidden rocks underfoot to trip you up, and water gullies to fall into. I’m reduced to snail pace, about a mile an hour, so this is going to be a long day.
It’s a relief to reach a beach, despite the wind driving the sand into my face. What must this be like in winter? I would not want to attempt the last couple of miles in wet weather.
The path winds inland to Lagg, via a pretty wooded vallley. The Velo Cafe is clearly a mecca for cyclists, decked with memorabilia from floor to ceiling. I chat to Richard over cake and coffee, the first person I’ve met who is also walking the Arran Coastal Way. We swap notes as we are walking in opposite directions, and I mention the overgrown path, but as he is 6′ 4″ plus, the ferns will barely reach his waist!
After a quiet road section, there’s an option to return to the shore at Sliddery, so I climb down. The vegetation has recently been cut back, but it’s still tiring as the stony path hugs every contour of the hillside, rising and falling, weaving round the larger rocks.
I refuel in Blackwaterfoot and pick up an extra couple of litres of water as I’m not confident of water sources for the next couple of days, not being entirely sure how far I’ll get today, and wild camping in the hills tomorrow. If I have enough food and water then I’m self-sufficient and relaxed. I have a water filter with me but not used it yet.
The Doon is an Iron Age fortification on a headland, protected by high cliffs from an attack by water. The path is spectacular, hugging the base of the cliffs, across a boulder field marked with cairns.
This is such a wonderfully varied walk. Now to explore the shallow sandstone King’s Cave.
The day is ending, and I still have far to go and much to see, but I’m enjoying it too much to pitch early. A stillness descends as I climb up a steep track and enter a lush forest.
Time to head off the path into the moors as there’s something I must see. The sign says 2km, so that’s an extra 4km round trip, in the fading light, but I can always pitch somewhere if necessary — the freedom of camping.
I pass several circles of small stones before cresting a hill and see my destination — the neolithic Machrie Moor Standing Stones. I’m alone in the dusk, with the mist on the hills and the wind in the long grass. A shiver runs through me. I run down to them, a ludicrous sight with my backpack bouncing up and down — why? They are humbling, standing in this fertile farming valley for thousands of years. What have they seen? I briefly consider pitching among them — would they whisper to me in the dark?
I reluctantly return to the road and head north, finally reaching the Old Byre Visitor Centre, where the owner, Lorna, has kindly given me permission to pitch in the garden. I’m so tired. The day was a lot tougher than I expected, but a joy to explore such amazing landscapes, crowned with a visit from Tigger.
Walk distance: 21 miles.
Total distance: 2,026 miles.