Arran's Better Half

In hot and sultry conditions we spent a couple of days kayaking down the eastern half of Arran. Well known as Scotland in microcosm, Arran's landscape has a little bit of everything. Well, almost.

Perhaps the highlight of the trip was a visit to Holy Isle. Docked alongside Arran, this mountainous little drop in the ocean is home to the Samye Ling Tibetan Buddhist retreat. It has recently been put in the (admittedly small) spotlight by sea kayakers, as some have been asked not to land by the monks. Happily, the 'no landing: retreat' signs have been removed from the lighthouse at the southern end of the island. While we were quietly enjoying the pervasive sense of peace at a discrete distance from the Buddhist centre, it seemed that the most disturbance was being caused by powerboaters driving up and down (as they do). A particularly loud powerboater dragging a sea biscuit could be heard shouting way out in the bay.
It was, though, a place of wonderful peace and tranquility, and I can't help thinking that sea kayaking is a most 'Buddhist' way of going about things. Quiet...no engines. Nothing but you and a bit of fibreglass...the mesmerising sea...a respect for everything around you...and the nothingness.

We squashed down a particularly un-Buddhist box of Viennese Whirls and went on our way. Leaving nothing but crumbs and taking nothing but peace.

It was a surprise to see a small Viking longship in a dock at Corrie. Turns out that it belongs to the Arran Viking Longship Society. It's called the Black Eagle, and it's smashing.

One thing that was sadly missing from Arran's little microcosm was the Arran Brewery. It started up on the crest of a wave which has since become a massive growth in Scottish brewing. Arran's pubs and ferries were plumply endowed with finely crafted beers- an oasis in a desert of ales, as it was a few years ago.




To cut a long story short, it turns out that Arran's bottled ales were doing quite nicely on the supermarket shelves until the price of hops went through the roof. Forced into selling to the 'big three' at a loss, they slowly but surely went under. The supermarkets don't care- they have many more where they came from. But to the Isle of Arran, it is a tragedy. It is desperate to see a line of Tennents and Guiness taps where the Arran brews should be. It's not even this that is the greatest worry. It's also what it means for the rest of the Scottish revivalists of the ancient art.