Day 13 - Tues 28th June - Arran.

To have an eventless day at this point might be quite pleasant. If this journal goes quiet you'll know I'm off somewhere having an inoffensive and pleasant time. Today though, I'll be writing.  
I have found myself on a near vertical rock face gripping shallow handfuls of grass from the occasional tuft in order to stay in one piece. This has gone too far and is truly scary. Hudson stands in safety behind me as we traverse the ridge of Goat Fell. I'm sure he's wondering why I've chosen such a route and he repeatedly demonstrates his physical superiority by galloping down to a less perilous crossing and trotting to me with his tail and tongue wagging. I want to smile at him but I'm just too close to dying, this went wrong so quickly.
The Glen Rosa campsite really has a stunning backdrop and the lack of shower facilities is reflected in the tiny fee. All this appeals to the Yorkshireman in me. The sun is hammering down today so it's on with light clothes and sweet smelling sunblock before we start up the valley. I feel like a gazelle after shedding the weight I've lugged for days and Hudson can't believe what's happening. Good times. In our pace we pass various walking groups, some of them recognise us from the road and joke about the trailer. The jokes are getting old now but of course they are meant in good spirit.   
The footpath leads us up through waist high channels carved in the sandy earth by feet and rain. We continue up to 'The Saddle', a sort of hammock shaped summit hanging between two higher ridges. We're tired as we come over the top but the vista on the other side makes us forget. The valley is huge and lush with greens and falling water and leads right out to sea, it's breathtaking. We take a rest and I clown around desperately trying to get the self timer on my camera working. I prevail and get a picture of us both that makes my yelping laugh echo off the rocks. I give out a few more hoots just to hear the effect of the landscape, it's a loud, clean echo.
Even now, the rocky ridge of Goat Fell is still high above us. The main path leading up quickly turns harsh and demands I scramble on all fours. These large smooth rocks offer no keying for Hudson's claws and the drops either side pose too much of a risk, it's impossible. We break off to some more minor paths lower and to the right but these fade in and out. We're climbing below the ridge halfway along the mountain before I realise they're not footpaths at all, just rabbit runs. Scrambling along the grass sideways I realise if it were to rain we'd slip down easily. The adrenaline brought on by the drop already has me shaking and I try to will these visions of doom from my head by singing Smiths songs in a tone deaf child kind of way. Our route is routinely interrupted by huge impassable slabs of rock and we have to descend in order to get around them. When we had totally run out of options I started climbing straight up the grass like a ladder. Hudson was valiant. He would follow me anywhere, I'm so proud of him today.

Needless to say, we eventually made it to the summit. I felt like I should've been defiantly sticking a flag in the bastard so I couldn't say I was too happy to see groups of school children up there. We clearly hadn't taken the easiest route. It's becoming a weary motif, but again the journey had been worth the view. This was simply arresting. The whole south side of the island was visible and we were stood at the highest point of what looked like a pinched patchwork quilt from up here. Many of the peaks surrounding us were populated by precariously placed groups of rocks and boulders that were much larger than the ridges they rested on. I had grossly underestimated our walk today, we hadn't eaten and were out of water. I weighed up the different routes for a swift escape and ran all the way down. I had a feeling this was stupid but didn't care and as we eventually limped back to camp I knew sleep wasn't far away.