Loch Awe

We rode on from Bill and Alfie's up the side of Loch Awe, mainly following forest tracks along the shore. The level of the loch was very high: halfway up the alder trees which fringe it.

There is a feeling now of autumn creeping on: the bracken is starting to turn gold; the rowan berries are ripening; lots of brambles now (yum) - it seems like only a few days since we were munching on wild strawberries!

On telephone wires the swallows gathered briefly and were gone, showing no inclination to linger longer and who could blame them?

More wood ant nests along Loch Awe: I do hope for their sake the water levels don't get any higher, although water can be discharged from the barrages into the river if necessary.

Taynuilt is where we were now headed, through Glen Nant. There is a hill track via Loch Nant but by now the weather was atrocious: pouring rain and high winds so we stuck to the relative shelter of the woods.

I wanted to get in touch with my hosts Frank and Helen in Taynuilt to let them know about the hill track (they were planning to unlock a gate for me).

My mobile didn't work ( as an aside to anyone travelling in the west who is, like me, on 02 which is rubbish over here) - get yourself a cheap mobile on Vodaphone or Orange. I wished I'd had one as the service is much better. Yes, yes, I know all about 'never rely on a mobile phone.'

Instead you can rely on phone boxes (marked on OS maps). Hahaha. The one marked at Inverinan could only be accessed by crossing a deep ditch and scrambling up a bank. I tied the ponies to the village notice board while I discovered a) the box didn't take coins; b) it refused to read my credit card; c) it wanted to charge £3.90 for a reverse charge call to Taynuilt, about 12 miles away. C'mon BT, not exactly a service to be proud of, is it?

As I was encouraging the boys back down the steep bank and over the ditch (Badminton, here we come) a kind soul came past and offered me the use of her mother's phone across the road - problem solved. She even held the ponies for me.

We followed the River Nant down to Taynuilt, riding beside the boiling torrents all the way. Luckily we didn't have to cross it, but admired the swirling powerful waterfalls from a safe distance. A bit of a surprise to come across - a ballet school! Ballet West is a thriving dance training centre supported by Billy Connolly, I was told, although picturing him in a tutu made Doogs feel quite ill.

Then a pants-peeing dart across the main road (yikes) and the relative safety of a minor road to the village of Brochroy. Our timing was slightly out, ducking under the railway bridge just as a train was going over it: the sudden acceleration of the ponies down the road at least meant we didn't suffer from plodding lastmileitis, about which I have written before. Doogs and Yeoman were turned out in a silage field (mown!!) courtesy of the local farmer, while the next day ('rest' day) was spent trying to separate - and dry out - mouldy soaking items in my packs. I've never excelled at housekeeping and pack-keeping seems to be the same. I'm with American comedienne Joan Rivers: "Housework? Doncha just hate it? Make the beds , do the dishes, and six months later you've just gotta start over..."

'Then catch the moments as they fly
And use them as you ought, man
Believe me, happiness is shy
And comes not aye when sought, man.'

Robert Burns

I am a keen reader, and it was a challenge to select just one book, Desert Island Discs style, to carry round with me.

Eventually I settled on the rather appropriately-named 'Wherever You Go, There You Are' by Jon Rabat-Zinn.

It's a thoughful little book about mindfulness and meditation, which stresses the value of living 'now', rather than projecting forward into the future or wallowing about in the past, which (like most people) I am rather prone to do.

It also has nice short chapters (!), perfect for tent-reading by torchlight.

The reason I mention this is one of the recent reporters who caught up with us said, 'your trip sounds quite contemplative'. And yes, it is: mile after mile on tracks with nothing much to do EXCEPT contemplate. Sometimes I practice my navigation: at the moment I am practising
contours, visualizing what a hill or other feature depicted on the map will look like when I get there and seeing if I'm right. But often I have the luxury of just 'being'.

I know I'm fortunate in currently not having the daily clamours of most people: late for work, get the kids' tea, find time for Tescos, renew the car insurance, blah de blah...

Idyllic really, as long as you don't confuse ' idyllic' with 'easy'. What I notice is a changed attitude to time. I don't wear a watch; I rarely feel hurried; and increasingly I DO 'catch the moments as they fly.'

Many things I notice: the subtle changes as the year wears on; the dart of an electric-blue dragonfly across our path; which direction the wind is coming from; a nest of wood ants beside the track (did you know the queens remove their wings after a brief mating whirl? Like a
pretty bride removing her party dress and putting on an apron and rubber gloves, I always think); the huge array of fungi which are starting to appear...

Well, you get the idea- nothing earth-shattering or uncommon and yet very satisfactory. We're pretty content, most of the time, and each day has its own quiet rhythm. Occasionally I catch a snippet of news on a tv somewhere - it all seems to come from a fairly far-off and not very relevant place!

Of more interest is the sun setting over Dunadd near Kilmichael Glassary (pictured), the original crowning place of ancient Dalriadan kings. Or watching (from above) an efficient sheep-gather in
Kilmichael Glen. Or being invited into a kids' party in Kilchrenan Village Hall for a cup of tea, just when it wasn't possible to get any wetter. Or meeting the lovely Heather, aged about 13, who stood with us in the rain and told of her longing for a Highland pony...

Although I do try to be reasonably organised (don't like running out of coffee- or food!), I don't attempt to manage every detail...I often don't know where we will spend the night, and on the whole don't worry about that as it always seems to work out somehow.

Which was the case at Loch Awe, where, just about lousing time we got the offer of an excellent field from the quietly efficient and interesting Bill (and Alfie the cat). Yet better, I was also able to sleep in the porch of the house Bill is renovating, rather than pitching my tent. Lying snug and warm, listening to the rain battering off the roof and windows: is that not happiness?

Weather or Not...

OK, I KNOW I wasn't going to mention the subject, but it's hard to avoid, as it affects just about everything we do.

The principal benefit of heavy rain is that it drowns the midges, so it's not all bad. Yesterday saw 58 mm (not that I'm becoming obsessed or anything) the last time that happened was January 11th!

The THOUGHT of getting going in the rain is generally worse than the reality (just). It's good for mental discipline: packing up a wet tent, getting rained on all day, and then unpeeling it, still sopping, is not the most fun I have ever had without laughing.

Occasionally a little voice fantasizes about going home: after all, we've been a VERY long way, it would be so nice to get home, it's not fair on the ponies, blah de blah...

And then - something happens, or I meet someone special, or see something extraordinary, and I'm reminded of why I'm doing this, and know that if I'd wimped out because of a 'wee droppie rain' I'd have missed that.

In all fairness, the ponies don't seem to particularly mind - they eat and sleep just the same. At least they're clean! So we squelch on, gently rotting. I do have a foot problem developing - I think it's trench foot, as experienced by soldiers in WW1 on the Somme with permanently wet feet.

There have had to be route changes, as I've mentioned already: rivers are dramatically swollen here on the west.

So it was by rainy chance that I ended up at Brenfield, home of Argyll Trail Riding. A great place, full of enthusiastic trail riders (staff and clients) and excellent riding all around.

A big box for the boys with yummy haylage, and a bed in the bunkhouse for me, sharing with competitors taking part in the National Championships of Le Trec, which happened to be on. Sounds like a great sport - I'm definitely keen to have a go! (WELL I'M NOT - Doogs).

From the welcome haven of Brenfield we rode on a track over the hill to Ardrishaig, where we rode along the Crinan Canal. Well, the towpath anyway.

This was a new experience for us - and simply gorgeous. The boys enjoyed it too (NO BLOODY HILLS FOR ONCE - Doogs) although uncharacteristically both whipped round and ran for it when a BOAT appeared! By the time we got to Cairnbaan though, they were both getting thoroughly nautical and demanding yellow wellies.

At Cairnbaan Locks a small problem: only a tiny gateway to squeeze through, far too narrow for the laden Doogs(& probably the unladen Doogs, too...)

There was a wider gateway though, with a cast iron gate padlocked to a stone gatepost. I asked the lock-keeper if he had a key? "erm, not sure", he said, fumbling with a giant keyring with about 50 keys on it.

None of them fitted (by this time the boys had dozed off.) The lock-keeper called over a mate, who repeated the procedure with HIS giant bunch of keys (by which time I had dozed off too.)

Just then, an ancient mariner came hobbling down the street. "Hey Hughie," shouts the lock-keeper, " do you know where there's a key for this gate?"

With a sigh, the old salt tottered over to the gate and lifted the chain OVER the stone gatepost, swinging it open wide. He hirpled off without a word while the rest of us just looked at one another... and burst out laughing, waking Doogs and Yeoman up. We were off again!

Knapdale Knotes

Tarbert is overlooked by a Robert the Bruce ruined castle, (he didn't half get about round here) which gives fine views over the harbour and town. I hope it's not TOO cruel to say that Tarbert is possibly slightly better viewed from that sort of distance?

It has one of the highest rainfall averages in the UK (Missing it Already: DOOGS).

One result of this is a HUGE area of native 'rain forest' - an SSSI which boasts over 600 species of plants, animals and invertebrates.
Much in the way of moss, ferns and lichens, as you would expect, in thousands of acres of ancient woodland. Even in the rain it is stunningly lovely.

We stayed with the hospitable Duncans in Knapdale (the next 'lump' round from Kintyre). While the boys had a day's rest I was shown round part of the estate, including the deer farm.

The size and quality of the stags was impressive: well over 20 stone (in the wild they're more usually about 13.) After Ileene's cooking I was heading the same way - time to move on perhaps!

We rode on round the Knapdale peninsula: even the usual soaking couldn't detract from how utterly delightful this corner of Argyll is: lots more woodland, opening on to well-tended grassy farms - stock rearing mainly.

We holed up with David, the local animal welfare officer. He didn't impound Doogs and Yeoman- in fact he thought they were in great order! He told me of the problems faced by farmers this year: with silage rotting on the ground unbaled they are having to buy it in for the winter. Added to already high prices this year is the cost of delivery to this remote corner, which raises prices by about a third.

It's hard, although not entirely bad news with lamb trade fairly brisk right now. Here as elsewhere a problem is few young people coming forward to farm, most preferring a more lucrative career in computers or some such.

We didn't manage any hill riding in Knapdale: one look at the swollen rivers (see pic) showed the stupidity of THAT idea! So we just dottled round the (charming) coast road - very little traffic and gave us the chance to watch dozens of seals - much to Yeoman's utter astonishment who thought the rocks had come alive! Poor Yeoman!

I promise not to go on any more about the weather (that WILL make a nice change- Doogs) but with yet another thorough soaking today and an inch of rain forecast for tomorrow please note I am now signing myself - Kate Moss.

The Viking Isle - Kintyre

The longest promontory in Britain, immortalized by Paul MacCartney, Kintyre (Gaelic: ceann tire - land's end) is only by geological chance not an island.

A1.5 km isthmus is all that joins it to the mainland: it was in fact claimed as an island by the Norwegian king Magnus Barelegs, by dint of an agreement allowing the Norseman to claim all parts of the Hebrides which could be navigated by boat.

Old Barelegs sat in his boat while his warriors hauled it over the narrow neck of land. As a consequence, many of Kintyre's place names are Norse in origin, including Claonaig where the ferry landed us (just).

There is a long distance path (the Kintyre Way) but due to the high blanket bog much of it is not suitable for horses (as several riders have discovered).

I rode from east to west via Loch Lussa, which despite the appalling weather conditions (surprise) is a lovely ride, taking in Saddell Glen.

Saddell is reputed to be the final resting place of heroic Somerled, who freed Kintyre from Norse domination on the twelfth century.

I rode across the 'spine' of Kintyre, passing close to its highest point (with ubiquitous windfarms). These are lovely forest tracks, well graded and not too steep although you climb quite high . I know this is for the benefit of the timber lorries, but we appreciate it too!

The going underfoot - which can be so variable on forest tracks depending on how recently they were constructed- is good, with a huge sandy strip down the middle for much of the way. On a good day I'm sure there would be some stunning views too!

We exited on the west side at Bellochantuy. Sadly not possible to ride along the beach, so we rode south along an A road which was pretty scarey...although the traffic wasn't too heavy, it was extremely fast.

A reporter from the Campeltown Courier caught up with me, pretty cross just after a 'nearie' with a tourist caravan so heaven knows what they'll print- lots of asterisks, I bet.

But we made it to the Lalargarve Highland pony stud - wonderful location to see the mares and foals high up with the sea as the backdrop. Some of the ponies are in their 30s, testament to Sue's care...although I suspect her goat kids Butch Casserole and the Sunday Lunch kid may not enjoy the same longevity somehow...

Doogs and Yeoman just look better and better - I on the other hand feel, look (and probably smell) more & more like Gollum from Lord of the Rings. Will it ever stop raining, one wonders? Sharp eyed readers will notice the photo was taken with me standing INSIDE this old barn
looking out - it's bloody wet out there!

Island Hopping

As well as being reunited with Yeoman, who appeared to have thoroughly enjoyed a day or two off, we also met up with Bill and trailer, come to shift us on to Arran (Caledonian Macbrayne won't travel animals loose on the ferry).

The ponies were billeted with the hospitable Macqueens in Brodick, in a fine grass park with glorious views of Goat Fell.

For a treat, Bill and I had booked into a local B&B. We were slightly nonplussed by the reaction when we asked for directions from a local, who went slightly pale and gasped, "you're not staying there, are you?"

Well, (almost) anything has to be better than a tent in the rain, but we were in turn slightly surprised to be met in reception by a plump hen.

Mein host was only slightly less odd, in Highland dress and an is it/isn't it wig. It seemed we had stumbled into a parallel Arran universe, especially when he addressed us in a broad Yorkshire accent. I really thought I might be getting overtired...

However, the place was comfortable and clean, seemingly almost entirely dependent on the services of a rather overworked Australian ex-zookeeper who did everything .

We had a rest day on the island, visiting the rather excellent Heritage Museum, where I hoped to find out more about Donald McKelvie. As well as being the breeder of the 'Arran' strains of potatoes (Comet, Victory, Pilot, etc), he was also a renowned breeder of Highland ponies, and indeed exported stallions to Palestine to breed mules. (As an aside, I was told recently the British Army were using Highland ponies during the Bosnian war - can anyone verify that?)

The forecast was dismal for the next day - and so it proved to be, with the tippiest of tipping rain and high winds . Although the boys were well rested after some good Macqueen grazing, it was not a day for riding to Lochranza -on safety grounds. There are no through tracks on Arran, so I was restricted to sharing the road with cyclists, pedestrians, lorries and tour buses: bad enough on a fine day with good visibility.

As it was, trailering the ponies the dozen miles to Lochranza to catch the small ferry to Kintyre we were forced off the road onto a ditch by an aggressive tour bus - luckily only minor damage: a rear light housing (the trailer) and a fuse (Bill's).

Boy, but it can rain and it was a sodden party which drew up at the Lochranza ferry terminal to read the notice: Sailings Suspended Due To Weather Conditions. Oh no - stormbound on Arran!

Well, there are worse places to shelter than the Lochranza Hotel. The barman fielded my worries about grazing for the horses, should we have to wait until the next day. "Oh just park them up anywhere: the farms round here are all managed from the mainland and it takes at
least three days for the police to move tinks on anyway". That's all right then!

After a few hours the wind died down some and the ferry was going to try the crossing- no guarantee of being able to unload at the exposed Claonaig though. (I was to learn later that there hadbern a tragic accident at that slipway a couple of years back, when two elderly ladies died trying to disembark in stormy conditions - lucky I didn't know it at the time.)

The ponies didn't seem to particularly mind swaying about on deck but I was relieved when the short 30 minute crossing was over though.

We had arranged to put the ponies up next to the local games pitch overnight. We'd intended to camp, but given the weather conditions were offered the option of sleeping in the pavilion instead - yes please! The games haugh is sited next to a Forestry Commission car park. Through the lashing rain I was amused to read its name: 'Port na Storm'. I was very tempted to graffiti the word 'Any' at the beginning of that!

One Man Down...

Unfortunately the heavy rain in the night resulted in a muddy field for the boys which in turn resulted in a lost shoe for Yeoman. His shoes were already holding on merely through force of habit - a farrier booked for a couple of days' time, but what to do now? Rather amazingly, there is a farrier who lives nearby in the forest (!) but attempts to contact her came to nought, so Yeoman was trailered back to Straiton by the amazing Colin and I rode Doogs instead.

Today's route took us through Galloway Forest Park. The overnight rain meant that the colours and scents were really intense as we rode through the forest, past Lochs Bradan and Riecawr to Loch Doon. Doogs was most intrigued by a charming kids'adventure playground on the shores of Loch Riecawr! We were following a route called, appropriately enough, Forest Drive - good footing for the ponies and lovely riding.

Loch Doon (or Loch Doom as the predictive text on my phone insisted) is very scenic, but suffers from two things: good road access and a proximity to some ex-mining areas, now with lots of social deprivation. These twin factors have resulted in a major littering problem, as the yoofs hold frequent lager parties down by the shore.

The problem is being addressed by the Dalmellington partnership created by local people and agencies, which has at least stopped the frequent burning-out of caravans etc. I was shocked by the amount of litter (abandoned tents and bedding, lager tins etc) but was told by the farmers that this is a 100% improvement on years gone by. What a pity, since it is a stunningly scenic area. Don't know quite what the answer is - education I suppose (or hanging). The 'banks and braes o' bonnie Doon' are rather challenged right now. Camping overnight, we could hear a party going on nearby (but we weren't invited).

We stopped to look at the 13th century Loch Doon Castle on the shore: (a ruin) - interesting architecturally as it is 11 sided; rubble built at the bottom, then dressed stone, then rubble. It was moved to its present position, stone by stone, from its original site when the loch was dammed in the 30s - amazing! Hard to imagine that happening today.

This was the first time on the trip we had come into proximity with an industrial area, and the next day we were to ride close to coal handling yards and an open cast mine. First, though, we visited Craigengillan estate, originally built for the Macadam family (as in tarmacadam) - now privately owned with much recent restoration, conservation and path work being done.

The stable block is a beautiful example of its type, now housing a local riding school and livery yard. Really good to see it having such a useful life these days.

Then over a lovely hill track and road to Straiton (and Yeoman). Here we had arranged to meet John Scott MSP who is also a local farmer, and who is a major supporter of World Horse Welfare. We had had some trouble over the previous week contacting one another to arrange a meeting place, due to lack of phone signal etc. Over coffee, I discovered I had practically ridden over his ground (when I crossed Beneraird)...if only we'd known....

Thoroughly enjoyed this section and huge thanks are due to Carol, Colin and the girls, who were great company and much help - thanks to you all.

Next challenge...over the sea to Arran!