On this second trip, I managed to explore more of the islands than I did two years ago. One of my stops this go round was the Isle of Arran, a short ferry ride from the small beachside town of Ardrossan. The island has a whopping population of ~5,000, with small villages dotting the coastline. Most of the interior is uninhabited, largely due to the hilly terrain. On my first day in Arran, I set off from my B&B in the village of Blackwaterfoot and headed toward the opposite coast via a country route that bisected the island. On my way, I found some lovely places to go hiking, including this one:
This is representative of how I felt for a good part of the trip. Awww, look at my sad, lonely little car.
One of the burns that cut through the valley that dominates the center of the island.
One evening, I got the urge to go out for a walk along the beach. On my trekking map, I found a site called King's Cave and decided it would make a great place to look for black guillemots, a type of seabird related to the extinct Great Auk.
The trail leading to King's Cave and the beach. I love that you can see the different water currents meeting off the shore.
Heading north along the west coast of Arran, we come to a series of caves flanking King's Cave. These extend back into the rock nearly 100ft and are filled with smooth, rounded stones polished by years of tumbling in the sea.
After exploring the caves, I turned to the south and walked toward this rocky plateau. Along the way, I stopped to collect at the salty, boggy marshes and played in the tide pools.
View from the top of the plateau. The caves are about 3km in the distance.
I was wrapping up my walk at about 8:30 that evening so that I could get back to my guesthouse while there was still some daylight. The sun was slowly making its descent, casting a warm glow upon the beach. I stopped to sit on one of the rocky upheavals and snap photos, like I do.
As much as I was enjoying my trip, I missed my family and friends. I was having all of these incredible experiences, hiking through some of the most beautiful habitats I had ever set eyes upon, and I had no one to share it with. Luckily, later that evening I was adopted by a group of Englishmen at a pub; a group of mountain bikers were holidaying on the island and somehow I got roped into joining them for a few rounds. It was just the sort of awkward socialization I craved.
The next morning, I set out to explore the eastern coast of the island, and happened upon one of my mortal enemies: a mute swan. Now, I couldn't just let this jerkface swan swim around and eat waterweeds in peace. Oh, no. Anyone who knows me knows that I can't make a trip to Scotland without screwing with Her Majesty's massive, ill-tempered waterfowl.
Okay, so I didn't mess with this guy or his girlfriend all that much. In fact, I attempted to share my Nair's oatcakes with them. No dice. Word must have gotten out that I'm not to be trusted.
Finally, a slightly graphic image for the squeamish in the audience. Birds interest me to no end, mostly because they're like tiny, fluffy dinosaurs. One of the most common birds you'll find in Scotland is the common pheasant, which is native to China but was introduced to Europe for hunting. Now, believe me when I say this: pheasants are some of the dumbest birds on the planet. In fact, dumb is a profound understatement. These birds are functionally retarded. They are often found on the side of the road, squashed six ways from Sunday. They are to Scotland what the armadillo is to the Southeastern US. Well, in terms of roadkill anyway.
That's how I stumbled upon this unfortunate sight. Male pheasants usually have a harem of female peahens, but this poor guy seemed to be mourning his girlfriend's recent demise. Aww, bird-love and bird-loss is so heart-rending.
Stupid, stupid birds.
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