The Arran poetry adventure is over for another year, and I’m back from the island. Seven days without balancing facebook, twitter and blogging have left me confused about which one to focus on, but the photos of Arran are uploaded so all is well. We’ve been planning for the last year to walk up the highest peak on Arran: Goatfell.
Walking up Goatfell was a pretty daunting experience; it is a corbett, which is a peak below three thousand feet. Goatfell rises to 2866 feet. The last few hundred meters were when I started to realise this is actually high. The wind up there was huge, roaring away like crazy. My pocket walking guide describes it as ‘light scrambling over the large granite slabs below the peak’, and I did feel lightly scrambled by the time I reached the top so. It also has a little picture of what you’re meant to see at the top, and labels each peak. I was too confused to do this jigsaw style matching of name to peak when we were up there, but now, in the calmness of a ground floor room I am using the photos:
The first gradual peak is called Caisteal Abhail, looks more like a rocky hill. The next higher jagged, more obvious peak is called Ceum na Caillich.
The first peak here is Cir Mhor, there’s a name for the vague hill like looking peak in the left also, Meall nan Damh. Then the dip in the middle is called The Saddle, which I can say.
It was exciting to get to the top, also shocking, watching a cloud float very close by. Thirty two thousand feet is how high a plane flies, which was really strange thinking about when you are walking up a few thousand, perspective feels skewed. The wind was so strong it felt like it blew my head out, it was behind us all the way up, Sara says it pushed her face to with a rock. Humbling moments.