THE second day of my August 2017 walking trip was all about doing stuff I’d already done, only differently. First, I would have to backtrack, doing part of the previous day’s walk in reverse. Then I’d be completing my journey to Oban — which I’d already done once ‘unofficially’ — though by a different route. But before any of that, I resolved to get a proper look at Ellenabeich, which I’d only glimpsed in darkness and/or driving rain…
Tag: sunburn
CLXXIII – Tarbert to Kilberry
ON THE third day of 2017’s July trip, I theoretically had a choice on how to proceed. I could continue up the A83, along the shores of Loch Fyne to Lochgilphead or I could go the long way around, following the B8024 along the Atlantic coast. The former would be a shorter walk of about fourteen miles, the latter would take me two days.
CLXXII – Tayinloan to Tarbert
I AWOKE on day two of my July 2017 trip with a sense of excitement. Not only was I about to embark upon another day of plentiful pedestrian progress but also I was awaking on an island. Now, I realise that I normally awake on an island but I was on a smaller island and that makes all the difference.
CLXVII – Lochranza to Carradale
DURING my coastal walking endeavour I have been inconsistent where islands are concerned. I ignored Sheppey, clipped one side of Hayling and dismissed Wight as something for another day. Anglesey, by contrast, I included. Once I reached the Firth of Clyde there were islands a-plenty and at first I chose to regard them from afar. The Cumbraes and Bute I thus passed by, likewise the Isle of Arran. Except that the convolutions of the coast brought Arran within reach a second time and, partly motivated by the distribution of ferry routes, I decided to my own surprise to walk it.
CLXVI – Lagg to Lochranza
THE second day of my May 2017 walking trip began with blue skies, sunshine and a hearty breakfast at the Lagg Hotel on Arran. My plan for the day was a fairly long walk by my standards — twenty-five miles to Lochranza — constituting the third and final part of my circuit of the isle. Or, to look at it another way, by nightfall my total net travel over Arran would be zero.
CLXV – Brodick to Lagg
THE morning of 6th May 2017 found me blinking at the sun’s harsh glare as its rays danced and sparkled across a vivid blue sea. The sky was azure, dotted here and there with fluffy clouds and palm trees stood proudly in front of the B&B in which I breakfasted. Mountains rose from the island’s interior. Had I somehow travelled to St Lucia by mistake? A glance at my breakfast plate disabused me of the notion. No, this was definitely Scotland.
CLI – Girvan to Ayr
THE sky was blue and the sun blazing fiercely when I returned to Girvan late in August. Doused head to toe in my own bodyweight of sunscreen, I strolled back towards the harbour ready to continue from more-or-less where I left off. This would be the first of three days of walking, covering the sixty-odd miles or so between Girvan and Largs. Day one’s objective was Ayr, Ayrshire’s historic county town, where I would stay overnight.
CXLIV – Isle of Whithorn to Port William
DAY four of my mid-March march across Galloway saw me wake rested but still tired — my legs weren’t as keen as the rest of me to get out and do some more walking. I cajoled them into compliance by means of tasty breakfast plus the promise today’s walk would be shorter than the previous ones.
I’m not sure they believed me but bacon silenced dissent.
Continue reading “CXLIV – Isle of Whithorn to Port William”CXLI – Kirkcudbright to Gatehouse of Fleet
I RETURNED to walking after a five month gap, the delay having come about on account of being a bit under the weather. Not me, you understand, but south west Scotland, which had spent much of the winter assailed by flooding and storms. Since I planned to go walking, not wading, I patiently waited this out until the first signs of impending spring brought calmer, warmer and — most importantly — drier weather. And then I got sunburnt. In Scotland. In March. It’s like my special super-power.
CXXXIII – Maryport to Silloth
IN THE middle of August, despite rain being forecast, I made my way back up to Cumbria for the purpose of further perambulatory diversions.
Having left London at a time known only to insomniacs and chorusing birds, I alighted in Maryport sometime mid-morning to find the small town in bustling holiday mood. I immediately went looking for an ice cream; the sunshine was mocking the Met Office with a vengeance—it was more like Umbria than Cumbria.
Continue reading “CXXXIII – Maryport to Silloth”