Off the ferry at a little place called Claonaig and then straight down the only A road on the peninsula to a place called Muasdale. I am having to be brief here - it's late and I have to leave for Barra tomorrow - but I did want to catch up with the blog: who knows when I'll next have a signal? Or any electricity to go with it?
Muasdale is a simple beach site on the side of the A83, the road to Campbeltown. On the hill side of the road are static caravans, and a little field right next to the beach is reserved for tourers. I spent quite a lot of the time looking at the beach (seals, oystercatchers, sunsets) but didn't walk much: the wind was strong and gusty, and there was a lot of rain. But each morning it seemed to clear up enough for me to take Bonnie and a cup of coffee to the beach, and sit and look at the view and the seabirds, including two very distinguished-looking female eiders (the females are brown, the males a striking black and white - but both sexes have a roman nose, which makes them look very thoughtful and intelligent).
I made friends with two children from Paisley who came to talk to Bonnie: Declan aged ten, and Chloe aged three. Declan was a serious boy and made many sensible observations, and he accompanied me on several errands round the site. I got to know his father and mother when I took Declan to launch my kite, and then realised he was perhaps too small to hold onto it in the wind while I sorted my lines out. Rather than send him skywards, I enlisted the help of Martin, his father, who was nearby.
Declan wanted to know where I was from, and when I told him his jaw dropped: London was MILES away. But he seemed flattered that I would come so far to come to see Scotland, which was, after all, his country. I got talking to Shona and Martin at their tent and they were very interested in the van - they are thinking of getting one, after trying to cook for a week in the rain and wind outside behind an inadequate windbreak. Declan asked if he could use my deep-fat fryer because he wanted to have chips: I think he overestimated the kitchen equipment that the van runs to. While we were having this conversation, Bonnie was thoughtfully stealing tuna out of the tins they were going to have for their supper. I think Shona forgave her. For the rest of the time, I enjoyed watching Declan out in the drizzle doing what looked like T'ai Chi, but what I think he was actually doing - given that it involved a football - was re-enacting some of David Beckham's winning moves very slowly indeed.
The story about the tuna reminds me that Bonnie had a genuine Scottish experience on the Arran campsite. I'd gone to talk to some guys who had arrived with some very cute tents: they got two round, flat, zip-up holders out of their pickup truck, unzipped them, and shook out - hey presto - two tents, fully popped-up and ready to peg down. I've seen a few more since and they are lovely. Anyway, while we were having the tent conversation, Bonnie had nipped behind one of the tents and polished off the remainder of some haggis out of their frying pan. The guy was amused rather than annoyed, and seemed to think the sheep's stomach that they use as casing might cause problems. I thought it was less likely to do so than the modern plastic equivalent. But Bonnie is now fully re-introduced to Scottish cuisine. Fried haggis. Rather her than me.
On the last night at Muasdale the wind ran to about 35 knots (at which point, my wind-meter packed up: I think it's got sand in the little fan bit). But I was actually getting seasick in the van, and gave up trying to sleep at 3.30am (I turned the van round to face into the wind, but it didn't help). So I went for a shower and eventually left the site completely at a quarter to six, driving a few miles before I found a forestry track sheltered by trees, parked up, drew the blinds, and slept for another three hours.
But from Muasdale I had an interesting day trip - apart from a quick trip to Campbeltown for provisions, which was quite unremarkable except for a nice drive down to look at Davaar island, accessible by causeway (not to vehicles) at low tide, but permanently inaccessible to me because they have native sheep on there and don't allow dogs. I saw people collecting shellfish on the sands, though, which was interesting (but looked like backbreaking work). My interesting day trip was to the tiny isle of Gigha, seven miles by one and a half, which I went to on the ferry (20 minutes) as a foot passenger. Worthy of a post of its own, I think - but these photos are all of Gigha, including the wonderful Achamore Gardens, which are now owned and maintained by the Islanders. The odd sculpture is by a local artist who makes art out of things she finds on the beach - the figure is made entirely out of washed-up baling twine, rope and net.
By the way, I like Kintyre because it's got such a long uninterrupted coastal view: wooded at the top, hilly and barren at the end. It's really just a thin spit of land. And Tarbert, which is at the top of Kintyre, is a jumping-off point for the ferry to Islay: we had several happy trips there to rented cottages. No time for a trip there this time, I have been dallying about so much - but then, dallying about is what this trip's all about. I used to go to Kintyre on and off with my friends from Stirling University, because a very good friend from there was seeing a chap who was doing a PhD in Aquaculture at Stirling. Stirling has (or had) a research centre at Machrihanish at the foot of the peninsula. His PhD was about halibut metabolism: I think it was to find out if they could be farmed (as far as I recall, they couldn't). Neil Auchterlonie, if you're reading this, perhaps you could correct me ;-) Neil's other distinction was that he went to school in Crieff with Ewan McGregor.
Here's to the memory of those halibut: I met them and they came up to the top of their tank to say hello.
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