Arisaig. A summer camping holiday.

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.