This year, the Crow Craigies Climbing Party convened in Brodick, on the island of Arran. It was probably the worst week of weather we’ve had since we started coming together for these trips back in 2003. We had cloud and rain every day, but didn’t let it interfere too much with our activities—only one day was a complete washout.

You can see from the map above that during the remaining five days, we covered a variety of high points, always trying (with mixed success) to stay below the cloud.

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Beinn Nuis (NR 955398, 792m)
Beinn Tarsuinn (NR 959411, 826m)

15.9 kilometres
950m of ascent

On the first day we drove up Glen Rosa, where there’s a fairly rough-and-ready parking area at the road end, next to a camp site. From there, we walked as far as the bridge over the Garbh Allt at the point where it joins Glenrosa Water.

Our route now was to the left, following a path along the north bank of the Garbh Allt. This meant we were on the opposite side of the river from our first summit, Beinn Nuis, which would prove problematic, given that the river was in spate.

The Garbh Allt proved impassable at the fording point where the main path crosses it. So we followed the river upwards and deeper into Coire a’ Bhradain, hoping to find a passable spot. But this took us into a fenced regeneration area, compounding our problems—now there was a river and deer-fence between us and Beinn Nuis.

Eventually, right at the top of the fenced area, we found a crossing place with a gate above it, and started to climb towards the impressive cliffs of Beinn Nuis and Beinn Tarsuinn.

As we climbed, the view back towards Brodick Bay opened up behind us, and we had a hazy view into Lamlash Bay beyond, with the impressive bulk of Holy Isle sheltering its harbour.

In Gaelic, Holy Isle is called An t-Eilean Ard, “The High Island”, and it was our planned destination for the following day.

As we ascended the shoulder of Beinn Nuis, I glance back and noticed the characteristic debris of an old aeroplane crash below us.

A bit of later research revealed that this was a US Army Air Forces B24 Liberator, being ferried from Gander to Prestwick in 1943, when it crashed into the western flank of Beinn Nuis killing all ten men on board.*

After crossing the summit of Beinn Nuis, we made a steep descent towards Flat Iron Tower, a granite tor on the ridgeline, with Beinn Tarsuinn beyond:

The cloud was lifting, but the summit of Beinn Tarsuinn was still intermittently obscured. The rock was damp from its recent immersion in cloud, but the coarse-grained granite was very grippy—to the extent it felt like it was trying to sand down our fingertips.

The cloud lifted clear of Tarsuinn as we arrived. The summit is one of the more unusual ones I’ve visited—the trio of overhanging outcrops in the middle of the picture below:

Then a rocky descent towards another ridge-line tor:

That’s Consolation Tor, and the mountain ridge in the distance is Goatfell, another summit that was on our list, weather permitting.

You may just about be able to make out that the path divides as it approaches Consolation Tor—you can go around on its north or south side. The northern branch has a steep eroded section. The southern branch feels a little more comfortable, and has the added bonus of passing through a short tunnel before rejoining the ridge:

The obvious route back to Glen Rosa follows the path down to the col and then over Beinn a’ Chliabhain, to rejoin our outward route a few hundred metres west of the footbridge. For reasons I am now unable to reconstruct, we elected instead to descend into the trackless upper reaches of Coire a’ Bhradain. This turned out not to be too soggy underfoot, though we did then need to crawl under an electric fence and climb over a stile to get back to the point at which we had crossed the river on our way up.

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Mullach Beag (NS 058302, 246m)
Mullach Mor (NS 063297, 314m)

4.9 kilometres
335m of ascent

The next day, we presented ourselves at the Old Pier in Lamlash, for our booked ferry trip to what the Ordnance Survey insists on calling Holy Island, but which seems to be generally known as Holy Isle. It’s probably called Holy Isle because of its association with St Molaise, who lived in a cave there during the sixth century.

Lamlash Cruises run a ferry to the island, on a timetable determined by the tides, and they give you about three-and-a-half hours ashore—ample time to explore the island, including its highest point, Mullach Mor. (Which is Gaelic for “big summit”, by way of contrast with Mullach Beag to its northwest, which is “small summit”.)

The weather wasn’t great when we arrived at the pier, with low cloud obscuring the island’s central hills:

But off we set, for a crossing in an open boat that takes about fifteen minutes. And here’s what we found when we stepped off the floating dock at the island:

A row of stupas and Buddhist prayer flags. Which isn’t something you see every day in Scotland. This is the Samye Buddhist Centre for World Peace and Health, run by Lama Yeshe Losal Rinpoche. When we were there, it was hosting a yoga retreat.

We headed off a short distance northwards, and then turned inland on the path to Mullach Mor. We were soon reassured that we were heading in the right direction:

The going was steep in place, and the combination of vegetation and loose wet rock made the going a little treacherous.

From Mullach Beag we could look down the length of the island to the lighthouse at its southern end:

But the cloud steadfastly refused to clear from the high point itself:

Having seen photographs of the triangulation pillar decked in prayer flags, we were disappointed to find it unadorned.

We decided to return the way we came, rather than make the steep and slippery descent to the south end of the island. But once we’d returned to our starting point, with time to spare, we did wandered southwards beside the shore to take a look at St Molaise’s cave, which, it transpired, looked pretty much like an average cave. Along the way, we incurred continuous outrage from the oystercatchers nesting on the shingle beach.

Here’s what that sounded like:

And we got to commune with these fellas:

They’re Eriskay ponies, a rare and hardy breed, originally from the Hebrides. They live wild on the island, which also hosts Soay sheep and (strangely) an ancient herd of Saanen goats. How they all ended up here is an interesting story, which you can read about on the Holy Isle website.

As we waited in the rain for our boat, we admired a Peace Pole near the jetty. A lot of these were planted in Scotland to commemorate the visit of the Dalai Lama in 2004, all bearing the message “May Peace Prevail On Earth” in multiple languages. This one includes the Scottish Gaelic equivalent: Gu maireadh sith gu brath air thalamh.^†

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Tighvein (NR 997274, 458m)

21 kilometres
650m of ascent

The next day, the cloud had lifted somewhat, but still shrouded the higher peaks. So we decided to make a circuit over Tighvein, a lower summit in the south of the island. I sold my companions on an approach via Glenashdale Falls above Whiting Bay. Easy walking on forestry tracks would get us within a few hundred metres of open moorland, and then we figured we could trickle up on to the hillside through firebreaks. Our return route was planned to continue northwards, via the Urie Path, a route through the forestry used by (we guessed) anglers wanting to fish the Urie Loch. That would get us back on to the forest track network for the return to Whiting Bay. Simple!

Glenashdale Falls were impressively full of water after the recent rains:

Then we strode merrily westwards along broad tracks until making a detour to visit the remains of a Neolithic chambered cairn, a hundred metres or so down a side path:

Tighvein is, I’m sure, Gaelic Taigh Bheinn, “Hill House”, and I can’t help but wonder if this is the “house” referred to.

From here, we chose a zig-zag path through leg-breaky recent felling and marshy old firebreaks to reach the open hillside. I could show you a photo of what that was like, but here’s one that tells the story to those who know their caterpillars:

This little fella is a Drinker Moth caterpillar. They love a bit of marsh, and this one was probably seriously considering whether it was time to pupate.

Out, then, into calf-deep heather, heavily dissected by the upper catchment of the Allt an t-Sluice. A gentle curve to the east took us around the worst of that, to the double summit of Tighvein—a rocky outcrop and a nearby triangulation pillar which seem to be about the same height.

Someone had given the trig pillar a fairly recent lick of white paint, but you should be able to discern it in the distance, to the right of centre above.

After a bit of lunch, we headed north in search of Urie Loch. This was ridiculously difficult to see until we were more or less on top of it, at which point it proved larger than expected.

On the far side, you can discern the Urie Path arriving at the lochside, and in the distance are the northern Arran hills, still shrouded in cloud.

We headed east, around the head of the loch, and then took a line that would connect us to the Urie Path just as it emerged from the forestry. Which worked well. And then a sense of foreboding set it in:

These windfallen trees, casualties of the storms that have tormented Scotland in recent years, were harbingers of what was to come. The path proved to be entirely blocked by fallen trees, just a short distance into the forest.

So we decided to make a circuit westwards, seeking to get as near as we could to the main forestry tracks, and keeping any eye out for any sort of break in the forestry that might let us connect to the track network. And I could show you a photo of the mad tussocky traverse on steep ground that then ensued, but here’s another wildlife photo instead:

This is a rather faded Painted Lady butterfly, having a bit of a rest after a long multi-stage migration from North Africa. This being early June, it was probably one of the first to arrive in Scotland.

Eventually, we found our way to a heathery shoulder with a splendid view out over Lamlash and Holy Isle:

To our south was a recent area of clear-felling, through which we picked our way upwards to (finally!) reach the forest track system again. Which is where we encountered this sign:

“Urie Path Closed Until Further Notice Due To Fallen Trees”. No kidding.

Then it was all merry striding again … until our final descent from the tiny settlement of Knockenkelly to the main A841 road for our return to Whiting Bay. Here’s what the OS 1:50000 map was telling us:

Forestry track on left (red diamonds), main coastal road at right (in red). There’s a very short section of path, right in the centre of frame, just a couple of hundred metres long.

Here’s what that was like:

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A’ Chruach (NR 969335, 514m)

9.5 kilometres
470m of ascent

The following day was the worst of our week, with cloud sitting low on the hills, and we spent it mooching around the shops and museum in Brodick.

The next day was, frankly, just as bad, but we were too stir-crazy to spend another inactive day, so we decided to make a short expedition on to A’ Chreach, (disappointingly, that’s “the heap” in Gaelic) just to the south of the B880, the only road that crosses central Arran. There was a circular walk to be had above the forestry in Gleann an t-Suidhe, with a return along the road, starting from a parking area near Glenloig farmhouse.

The fates attempted to warn us off. Twice. The first time was when we encountered a sign at the east end of the road, telling us that it was going to be closed for roadworks in half an hour, and wouldn’t reopen until 3pm. But we pressed on, soon encountering the maintenance crew getting ready to start work on a bridge. Then we parked in our chosen spot, and set off up a forestry track in Glen Craigag, from the head of which we planned to do our usual sneak on to the open hillside using drainage channels and firebreaks. What could go wrong?

Well, this:

Just a couple of hundred metres up the track, we ran into an area that had been clear-felled by huge machinery, leaving a wilderness of mud and debris.

But we pressed on, skirting the margin of the unfelled trees. The highlight of this part of the proceedings was this:

A “stepping log”, rather than a stepping stone—never seen one of those before. It came just before we were able to turn uphill through more clear-felled chaos.

Eventually, just as we entered cloud, the open hillside was reached:

And we walked a compass course, in battering wind and rain, towards the summit. I’ve no idea what this pole is supposed to be doing, very close to the summit, but it’s the last time I was prepared to take out my camera on the hill:

We crouched at the summit for all of a minute, during which I managed to step into a deep mossy hole full of water, and agreed that we really didn’t fancy going down the way we’d come up. So another compass course took is into the headwaters of the Allt nan Calaman, after which we pursued a line between the river and the rounded ridge of Cnoc Dubh, designed to get us down to the edge of the forestry by the most direct route possible. In retrospect, it would have been better to stay high and then turn directly downhill from Cnoc Dubh—our chosen route took us on an awkward traverse across steep heathery ground above the forest.

But we had a treat in store. With the road now closed, we were able to walk back to the car without worrying about traffic:

But now we couldn’t get back to Brodick the way we’d come—the roadworks were behind us. So we drove westwards, moved the traffic cones at the end of the road so that we could drive through, and then went all the way around the north of the island to get back to our accommodation—pausing only for coffee and cakes at the splendid Café Thyme, near Machrie on the west coast. Which was the high point of the day, to be honest.

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Goatfell (NR 991415, 874m)

11.7 kilometres
900m of ascent

Our final day promised high, broken cloud, so we set off for Arran’s highest point, Goatfell. We parked at Cladach, just west of the Brodick Castle Country Park, and followed the signposts. In contrast to our previous forays, this one has a well-marked tourist route all the way to the top.

At first we climbed through forest, and then emerged on to the open hillside with our first view of Goatfell’s conical peak.

The route follows the east side of the Cnocan Burn for a while (notice the distant waterfalls in my photograph above), then ascends through Coire nam Meann on to the shoulder of Meall Breac. The granite boulders around here harbour ravens, so we climbed accompanied by their croaking, chiding calls.

A view of Brodick Bay opened up behind us, with the summit of Holy Isle protruding through the hazy beyond. The wind across the ridge was cold and batteringly fierce, making us stagger from time to time.

The path, as you can see, is beautifully engineered. As we ascended the steep steps towards the summit, the cloud rolled in.

The prospect of a view didn’t seem promising. And here’s what the summit looked like when we arrived.

Sigh. We sat down disconsolately to eat our sandwiches, and suddenly the sun came out.

Cloud was clinging to some of the higher tops, and mist was pouring across the ridges below intermittently, but I was able to take four pictures that I could stitch together, through the miracle of Photoshop, into a summit panorama, spanning something like 100 degrees and taking in most of the high summits of the North Arran hills.

I encourage you to click or tap on the image to get the full effect. A mass of cloud sits on top of Beinn Tarsuinn, at left. From there, the jagged ridge of A’ Chir links to the pyramid of Cir Mor, in the centre of the image. Over the right shoulder of Cir Mor, capped with cloud, is Caisteal Abhail. Closer to us, and superimposed on the northeast ridge of Caisteal Abhail, is the rocky top of North Goatfell, linking to Mullach Buidhe at right of frame. (For orientation, my map at the head of this section shows all these hills.)

We hung around for a while longer, reluctant to leave the view behind, but eventually we clattered back down to the car by our route of ascent.

And that was the end of our stay in Arran. It only remained to catch the ferry back to the mainland—which performs a dramatic turn alarmingly close to the shore in Brodick, before reversing in to the pier.

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* Beinn Nuis has caused more than its fair share of air crashes and fatalities. Twenty-eight US airmen have died there in three separate crashes—the one we saw, a B-17 Flying Fortress and a C-60 Lodestar.

^† Yes, there’s a typographical error in the text on the pole. It begins Gu malreadh … instead of Gu maireadh … Unfortunately, that seems to be an error in the poles produced for the Dalai Lama’s visit to Scotland in 2004. You can see the same typo in examples in Rodney Gardens, Perth, and Edinburgh Zoo.

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