Things to do in Arisaig.......
*look for crabs in the shallows. If you’re swimming, take a wetsuit.
*go kayaking and look for seals.
*play frisbee. Arisaig beach is wide with soft sand. It’s often windy so be prepared to paddle.
*Go fishing, if you like mackerel.
*have a BBQ on the beach. I recommend steak baguettes- fool proof.
*watch the sunset with a very good bottle of red wine, and plenty of warm layers.
*build a fire and toast marshmallows
*take a boat trip to Rum, or Eigg and look out for dolphins on the way.
The sand is white and the waters turquoise; when I first visited Arisaig it was only the haggis roll I had for breakfast that convinced me I was still in Scotland.
The beautiful coastline, stretching from just south of the tiny village of Arisaig to the small town of Mallaig eight miles further north, is the perfect spot for a good old-fashioned summer holiday. Pack the tent, bat and ball, swimsuit, fishing rod, hat and scarf and hot chocolate (just for the evenings, hopefully) and you’re set for a timeless holiday which you’ll look back on fondly but without any clue to which decade it was, or how old you were.
My last visit was for a long weekend in July. Two friends had caught the sleeper train from
London and we met them painfully early at Glasgow station, just managing to
squeeze the four of us plus luggage into our little golf. It takes about four hours to drive to Arisaig
from Glasgow, allowing for the mandatory greasy-bacon-roll-with-white-bread-and-lots-of-butter
stop.
There are several campsites to choose from, lining up
along the coast from the brilliantly named ‘Back of Keppoch’. A few are full of static caravans but there are
a couple of the traditional, simply a field with a wash block, style sites. If
you only have a two-man tent there are some fantastic spots for wild camping:
tent size grass banks perched right above the water (potentially risky during
Spring tides!). Our campsite was at the
end of a winding narrow dirt track and stretched right down to the beach. It’s an idyllic spot that we’re fortunate to
have found years ago: the couple that runs it has decided to wind down and only
accepts repeat custom.
During the first hour of a camping holiday I am always
slightly unnerved by the sudden transition from dwelling between four walls to
a boundary-free existence, with only grass to sit on. I become secretly alarmed by the sudden pressure
of entertaining ourselves without the familiar crux of the laptop and T.V. We
threw ourselves into the deep end of outdoor living and braved the sea. With an
old snorkel and a pair of goggles between us we became absorbed in tracking the
progress of three tiny crabs scuttling along the seabed.
In mid July Scotland benefits from seventeen ours of
daylight, perfect for life al fresco.
For evening entertainment we held a mini Olympics on Arisaig beach, long
jumps and wheelbarrow races along the sand.
Continuing with the competitive theme dinner was ‘come camping with me’
and it was our friends’ turn to impress with their camp stove skills. Lucky for them a lady at our campsite was
giving away fresh mackerel: her holiday fishing excursions had been so
successful she couldn’t face eating another one. This prompted a lesson in how to gut fish
that we held in the only sink available to us, in the toilet block. It was fortunate that vegetarians turning up
to do their washing up didn’t interrupt our rather messy crash course. Dinner
was a three-course affair: freshly caught mackerel followed by spaghetti
carbonara and a dessert of ginger biscuits topped with tinned custard and
raspberries and served in a plastic cup. Delicious.
By 9am on day two we were sitting on the beach waiting for
a man to turn up with some kayaks. It turned out to be two men who handed
over three kayaks, splash decks and dry bags for the day, for around £100.
I had been worrying about how to disguise my lack of experience but it turned
out that staying quiet was a good enough strategy. The men gave us everything we needed, plus advice
about where to go (the boys’ attempt to impress with their waterproof map
backfired as the routes they’d planned were far to optimistic to have been devised
by anyone with knowledge of kayaking) and left.
When we set off the sky was clear, the sun shining and
the sea calm. We gently wove our way
through the islands close to the shore, keeping a look out for seals basking on
the rocks. As soon as we spotted any
they would clumsily heave themselves to the edge and dive into the water.
We’d stop paddling and float silently until one by one their little faces would
pop up again. At one point I counted forty pairs of beady eyes just above
the surface, watching our every move. As soon as we reached for the
camera or made any noise they’d disappear.
We ate lunch on an empty sandy beach on one of the
islands. If only it had been twenty degrees warmer it could have been the
Caribbean! Afterwards, we picked mussels
for dinner. They were so encrusted with barnacles that later they’d take a good
couple of hours to clean- something I’d never bother with at home but happily
became engrossed in sitting on the beach.
In the afternoon I set off in the solo kayak, which was
far less stable than the double I’d been in before lunch. Just as I was
settling into a rhythm and beginning to feel comfortable we left the shelter of
the islands for choppy open water with waves almost a meter high. As the front of my kayak rocked up and
crashed down I attempted to follow the only kayaking rule I knew: keep the
front pointing into the waves. My friend,
who’d done a one day sea kayaking course, had told us never to position the
boat sideways to the waves as it leaves you vulnerable to capsizing. Trying not
to panic, I focused on paddling into the waves.
The only problem, I was heading further offshore. Turning around would mean maneuvering the
boat into the vulnerable side on position: a risk I couldn’t afford to take.
‘The waves are so high I can’t even see you’ excitedly shouted my friend. Not
helpful. ‘Are you OK?’ came from my more
perceptive boyfriend. ‘No’ I shouted back shakily. With his reassurance I just about managed to
hold it together and took a very round about route, void of any sharp turns, to
get back into calmer water. Still
shaking, I mounted the beach and swapped the solo kayak back for the front of
the double. The others had remained calm throughout my stressful ordeal but the
most experienced among us did admit he had been worried, ‘If you’d have
capsized’ in that water I’ve no idea how we’d have got you back in’. I think
I’ll take a lesson before going solo kayaking again.
That evening we headed to the clusters of trees (there’s
nowhere with enough trees to be called a forest) to gather firewood. We managed
to find just enough dry wood to keep a respectable sized fire going for a
couple of hours. Disappointingly, the
hot chocolate we’d bought turned out to be cocoa, pretty revolting with just
hot water. But thankfully, we had marshmallows.
For there isn’t much that beats some sugary
gelatine wrapped around a twig, melted on an open fire and eaten under a sky full of stars.
