Air Na Morthirean

ILE - TAIRBEART - TIGNABRUAICH - GLEANNDARUEL Dist: 45miles

After the day off and an early ferry to catch, I wasn't enamoured by the young trees being thrashed about outside the window. If ever it had looked like rain it was now. I had a quiet breakfast and left my food for others before packing well and applying some Ralgex I'd been forced to by at the end of day two. For almost half the journey I kept small and ground round the pedals but by the time I reached Bridgend - a nice wee village at the mouth of the loch - the clouds had lightened and I changed direction to take the high road to Pt Ellen. It was a bit like the never ending road of dips but soon enough, after passing the occasional car with sleeping wean in rear, I was going downhill and heading for the ferry. I was made a roll in the spar by a man who seemed to resent the business but his staff kept me entertained by the young girl, whilst unpacking crates of cheap brandy, asking the time-served one - "so why is it they like this so much?" - "Compared to whisky?........... It's got more of a kick."
And with that I left this whisky mecca and rolled on to the ferry waiting for me just around the corner.

I was still tired and slept for a lot of the journey but woke a few times - once to stroll on deck in the now sunny day and again to draw an annoying telegraph reader I'd seen in the distillery the day before. "It's two pounds less in my local Sainsbury's you know". "Fuck you very much" I could see the woman thinking as she smiled and wrapped his 10 year old.

At Kennacraig I once more took off Ross' camouflage and headed over the string road to Tarbert. I could hear amplified noise well outside the village, reminding me of the shows we'd stumbled upon last August. It turned out not to be hustings but the Scottish series in town - there was lots of tight-arsed, unhappy looking girls who owned horses strutting their stuff in shades and over-weight, marginally more jovial locals pushing maclarens around. I ate in a cafe frequented by the latter as I didn't want to hang around too long and was needing carbs. Tarbert was looking it's lovely self and there was barely any feeling surfacing to remind me of my honeymoon here almost ten years ago. I reckon the party would go on here until late but I had the Haudit and Daudit to meet in Cowal so I took the ferry to Portavadie getting a magic view back to the Port and up to the racing that was being circled furiously by referees and hungry photojournalists in ribs.

Yet another world waited at the other side and I dipped breifly into Tignabruaich before the last major climb up to the view point. Bracken lit the way and deciduous trees added some drama to the high coast. Eventually I swung into the campsite and was greeted by Ian and Calum who provided both prescription drugs and massages along with a host of fishing paraphernalia.

We fished under a baking sun in Furnace on Saturday and ate our winnings - drank until we had cleared the cupboard and verged on hysterics and madness on more than one occasion. After a wonderful lunch at the Colintraive Hotel we parted ways and I took my last two ferries to Bute and Inverclyde. As the sun continued to shine I stopped briefly on the front at Fairlie to savour a week of bliss.

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