On the 5 September, with the forecast predicting a breakdown in the fine stable weather, we headed down to west coast after breakfast with plans for a circuit of Coire Roinn and Sunday lunch at Pirnmill. Beinn Bharrain is one of my favourite Arran hills with the muscular rollercoaster ridge reminding me of youthful days in the Grampians. So with purposeful steps we headed up the Forked Burn, pausing to admire the aspen leaves quivering on the side of the gorge, before striking off cross country to the Suilven like Creag an Fhithich. The Victorian Ordnance Survey surveyors missed a treat in failing to capture the name of this peach of a ridge, or perhaps the thought that krag-an-eeuch was an unsuitable name for the rock of the raven.Mike was in training for his first Arran Mountain Festival walk, Chae was field testing his suspiciously denim like technical trousers (not to be confused with jeans) and Iain was along for the ride. We scrambled and scampered along the spiny ridge back, catching our breath to admire the exposure and congratulate ourselves. When looking back we spied a senior walker in a blue cagoule and baggy shorts making short work of the scramble.
And so with our egos clipped we retired down the less demanding western ridge to the tea room; there we set to embellishing the tale of our Sunday morning adventure, feasting on beef pies flavoured with Arran ale and drowning our sorrows with great steaming mugs of tea. A perfect Sunday adventure we thought before settling down to snooze under the comforting blanket of the Sunday papers.
Chae
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