Thursday 2 May 2013

24 April Arran: Corrie Lochan and Glen Catacol

Alan, Davie C, Davie Mc, Ian, Jimmy, & Robert

The heavy overnight rain and the dismal grey sky had at least one of us wondering about the sense of spending the money going to Arran just for a soaking but the met office promised that the day would clear so all six who gathered at Ardrossan harbour boarded the ferry for the island. With the cloud hanging down to around the thousand contour it decided that the high tops would wait for a better day and when Davie Mc suggested a ‘low level’ walk on the west side of the island, his suggestion was readily accepted. So, when we arrived in Brodick, we boarded a bus that bumped and swung its way round the narrow coast road of the island to our starting point at Thundergay (or Thunderguy or Thunderguay depending where you read it). The sun arrived at Thundergay around the same time as the bus but a biting northerly kept the temperature down and we set off immediately to work up a heat against the blow.
The steep climb to Corrie Lochan took its toll on legs stiff from sitting in cars, ferry then bus for the best part of three hours in some cases and we might have taken our time to climb to the wee lochan. But Robert had other ideas and set off up the slope at a fair old lick leaving the rest of us trailing on behind. Still we did have a few opportunities to look behind us down to Thundergay and over the sea to Knapdale and Kintyre. That the snow of last month must have been really bad on the island was witnessed by the first patch that we encountered lying in the burn gorge under a broken birch tree and still around three feet deep. We would meet more snow further up.
We found Robert having elevenses sitting hunkered down behind a low bank by the shore of the Corrie Lochan, the only shelter from the wind that he could find, so we joined him. As we sat we could see a path rise up the slope to our left, a path that we were to take after coffee, a path that rose into one of the great patches of snow that dotted the hillside even this late in the year. So, after coffee, we took to this path, Robert still setting a fair old pace upward.
The snow was of concrete consistency when we reached it and walking up it was a pleasure, like walking on the pavement of the high street, and all would have been idyllic but for the evil northerly that bit the face and rattled the windproof  jackets. But we would not be in that wind for too long now for we had reached our highest point of the day at around the twelve hundred contour. The sun continued to shine and the wind had driven the clag from the high tops and when we reached our high point we had a great view into the ‘back’ side of The Castles, A’Chir and Ben Tarsuinn. But the high toppers we not too disappointed today for if the wind was this strong down here, what might it be like a thousand feet higher? So we contented ourselves by crossing the high point and coming to the side of Glen Catacol.
As soon as we dropped away from the col we lost the wind and the day turned quite pleasant. Not so the underfoot conditions though. At first we had to contend with landslips which cut away the path, landslips which looked quite new from the pristine white boulders that littered the way. But all crossed these slips without too much trouble and we came to the floor of the glen. Now, he who knows these things said that we were only a few hundred yards from Loch Tanna and a visit there would be a fine thing. We believed him. (Again???? – Ed) So our footsteps were turned southward towards the loch. The path ran out and we came on to what is best described a sponge of moss and peat and very little grass, the snow-melt and overnight rain making it extremely wet and slimy. Slipping and sliding and foul language as a backside found the wet peat was the norm on this section to the head of the pass to Loch Tanna – slipping and sliding and cursing and rising once more to the vertical to slither on as before. Eventually enough was enough and we came to a halt and sat on as dry a spot as we could find within viewing distance of the loch and had something to eat.

With bodies and spirits refreshed we started back over the slime to find the head of the Glen Catacol path. Now the going would be much easier. Or not! The path descended steeply beside the burn and at first we were treated to a series of roaring waterfalls and deep, cool-looking pools as we dropped with the path to the bottom of the glen. Then the trouble started. The path crosses boulders – large boulders, small boulders, stable boulders, shoogly boulders, round boulders, flat boulders, many, many, many boulders. Jumping, hopping, stepping up and stepping down was how we covered the next mile or so. Crossing two burns proved difficult for some but the boulders proved the difficulty for most. Then, eventually the boulders gave way to a nice flat, grassy path on the floor of the glen in sight of the sea and we knew that our walk would soon be over.
We came to the end of the glen at a wee car park beside the main road, turned north and found ourselves outside The Catacol Bay Hotel. What more pleasant place could we chose for FRT before catching the bus for Brodick and home again.
As usual, we met a few folk today: Maureen from Peebles on the bus: the Glasgow chap and his friend in the hotel bar: But special mention must go to John and Rebecca from Twickenham who, not only travelled to Arran from home by public transport but followed our very footsteps all the way from the bus to Corrie Lochan and Glen Catacol to the hotel bar. Good on them

No comments: