I'm at the Arran brewery now sampling the local brews, typical safe British ales, perfectly good but nothing too exciting. My three years drinking microbrewed west coast style IPA's in Ontario has spoiled me. The girl at the outdoors shop opposite told me about a campsite in a valley next to Glen Rosa,
"If you don't mind roughing it?"
Which of course we don't. We can get up to the highest peak, Goat Fell from there and I'm thinking Hudson is due a good long walk.
The road to Glen Rosa is called the 'cart track', as we roll down the road I manage to spoil someone's photo opportunity with a drive by thumbs up in the background. I count to ten as they review their picture then hear them laughing. The valley has a flood plane in it's base that is cracked in half with a bolt of fresh water feeding down from the hills. I pitch next to the water and shiver at the utter tranquility of this spot. I hoist my dirty laundry over to the water and wade in with a bin bag and a bar of soap to clean it all. Whilst my back was turned, Hudson has rolled in enough sheep shit to turn his white spots brown so he gets wrestled in for a dunking too. Then I chase him around on the grass to make friends and dry off.
I lay all my clothes out to dry, crack the bottle of Arran 'Sunset ale' I picked up at the brewery and read until my book is finished. The forecast is good for tomorrow when we'll tackle Goat Fell.
