The Isle of Arran is often referred to as ‘Scotland in Miniature’ because the north of the island is mountainous whereas the south is more pastoral. We’ve brought the van over from Ardrossan and are enjoying a mini road trip around the island, mini because Arran is only twenty miles long and nine miles wide. But what it lacks in acreage it more than makes up for in natural scenery and human history with an abundance of beaches, waterfalls and wildlife, castles, distillery’s and ancient monuments.
Whiting bay, in the south east of the island is one of those long narrow sea front towns. The houses and shops stretch out along a main road that curves gracefully around the bay. A parking space looking out onto the rolling blue-green waters of the Firth of Clyde is a good place to leave Mrs E doing what she enjoys best, art journaling, whilst I head off on a walk to the islands highest waterfall, Glenashdale Falls or, if we are not going to toponymical colonialists (to pinch a Jim Perrin phrase) Eas a’ Chrannaig in Gaelic.
Leaving the main road I head gently upwards through woodland to the sound of the rushing waters of Glenashdale Burn, which are heading in the opposite direction down into the bay. As I walk the evergreens become increasingly mossy. Arran’s climate is temperate and warm moist air coming on the Gulf Stream makes it a haven for mosses and ferns, forty five species of ferns apparently grow on Arran.
The gradient gradually increases and higher up it appears some serious tree felling has taken place leaving the hillside looking quite bare. The glen narrows and gets steeper as the falls get closer but before long I have reached the wooden viewing platform that gives an airy view over to the waterfall.
And what an impressive waterfall it is. Although I knew I was walking to it, I don’t think I’d seen any pictures and there are no glimpses on the approach path so reaching the end of the viewing platform I was a little taken aback at the noise and just how high it was, it looked better than I was anticipating. Eas a’ Chrannaig is a double waterfall tumbling down the rocks for 140ft and is the highest and possibly the finest waterfall on Arran.
I love waterfalls. I think it stems from childhood memories of coach trips to North Wales with my mum and dad. These would inevitably involve a trip to Aber or Swallow Falls where, as we were on holiday I was allowed a shandy and a bag of crisps at the Swallow Falls Hotel and my dad could enjoy a couple of pints of mixed (half a pint of mild and half a pint of bitter) and a rare day off work with his family.
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Fast forward forty years and I was the dad making memories with my children visiting waterfalls, including New Zealand’s highest with my daughter (read here if you like). All a part of that grand circle of life as Mufasa would say.
After admiring the falls I head down the forestry road towards a Neolithic burial site known as the Giants Graves. Although the road itself is an ugly scar on the landscape there are some reasonable views through the trees down to Whiting Bay and along the coastline.
The Giants Graves you won’t be surprised to hear are not graves for giants but the remains of two Neolithic burial chambers probably about 5,000 years old. Little else is known about them or who may have been buried in them but there prominence, set high on the hill above the bay suggests someone of importance.
The path back to Whiting Bay is a return to pleasant forest walking although it steepens into some zig zags at the end. About half way down I pass a young tree underneath which is a small, lovingly created memorial with painted stones, ornaments, pictures and a small brass plaque.
The plaque tells me that Terence George Barker, whose memorial it is was born six months after me but had already been dead for ten years. Time is our most valuable possession and the one we take most for granted, it’s always a diminishing resource and no amount of money will ever buy us more of it. The memorial is a sober reminder to me to use the time I have wisely. From his memorial Mr Barker seemed to be a man that was loved in life and is clearly not forgotten in death.
As I walk back to the van along the sea front, salt air on my face, seagulls squawking and the rhythmic sound of waves rolling into the bay and crashing over sand and rock I think of my dad, dead now for quarter of a century. I picture him in my mind, laughing, drinking beer and smoking woodbines on a sunny day in Snowdonia sometime in the late 1960’s. It brings a smile to my face and I remember a Samuel Butler quote:
“To die completely, a person must not only forget but be forgotten, and he who is not forgotten is not dead”.
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Well you’ve certainly prodded a few old memories back to life there Jim. A half of shandy and a packet of smoked bacon crisps at the Swallow Falls hotel – yes indeed!. And instead of the woodbines, my Dad smoked a pipe. He used to say that his pipe wasn’t just a smoke, it was a companion on his walks. I learned pretty much everything I know about Snowdonia and climbing from the man who was once one of the four men who founded the “Ogwen Cottage Mountain Rescue” team – later renamed “Ogwen Valley Mountain Rescue Unit. His (and my Mum’s) ashes are scattered on the shore of Lyn Ogwen.
I hiked round Arran in July 2022. Those falls are beautiful. It is nice to see them again, but in autumn colours.
That’s a lovely quote, Jim. My Mam has been dead for 34 years this month- an incredible amount of time- but my Dad, just 6. Hard to think about your own mortality till it happens. Hopefully not soon. And I love waterfalls too.