As we climb to the Eas Mor waterfall on the south of the Isle of Arran, I pause to read the words carved into a fallen tree in our path: “Bow your heads, for you are entering sacred and magical lands.” There is much about Arran that is sacred and magical. I grew up in Glasgow, visited the island several times as a child, played mini-golf at Brodick and spent hours scouring beaches for perfectly smooth, multi-coloured stones. My husband’s family also left London for long summer holidays: stories of three-year-olds trudging up Goatfell – the island’s highest peak at 874 metres – are the stuff of fables.
We now have two children of our own – Henry, eight, and Isobel, five – and we brought them back to this beautiful Firth of Clyde island in the May half-term. Arran is often called “Scotland in miniature”, but that’s especially true and relevant for families. You can get there in about two hours from Glasgow, and the island’s main road is a continuous 55-mile loop around the coast, past wild beaches, misty castles, whisky distilleries and brooding granite mountains.
Eas Mor is the ideal family walk to let those little legs rest: steep enough through the wooded valley to keep you feeling energetic, but short enough to prevent the groans from starting. At the end, you can visit the Forest of the Falls Cafe, where you can bribe with homemade cake.
The waterfall, a tall plume cascading into a ravine, is impressive, but the real magic is created by Albert Holmes of the Eas Mor Ecology project, who transforms felled trees into intricate wooden works of art, including kelpies and fairies hidden among vines and wild, throne-like benches.
In a clearing stands a log cabin with a turf roof, now called The Library. Here we see Albert replenishing the piles of paper and crayons. Every inch of the walls and ceiling is covered with drawings and words from visitors: sketches of the view of the domed island of Ailsa Craig, alongside poems for peace.
Then we head down to the beach at Kildonan, in search of more secrets. Arran is in the process of becoming a UNESCO World Geopark: the Highland Fault cuts through the middle of the island, and in 1787 a spot near Lochranza in the north was the site of one of geologist James Hutton’s first “unconformities”, which proved the immense age of the earth.
Here at Kildonan, hidden in the rocks, is a footprint left by a giant reptile, some 240m years ago. We study its contours on the shore at low tide, poking barnacles with our walking boots until we practically step into them, its five toes conspicuous among the other ripples in the rock (the creature’s name is chirotherium, meaning “hand beast”).
The next day we take a trip on the Lady May from the pier at Lamlash, passing families paddleboarding near the shore before sailing around the bay and past Holy Isle. “Look, that gannet is about to have lunch,” says Lamlash Cruises guide Tim Harvey, pointing to the dive bomber as Henry and Isobel take turns holding a pair of giant binoculars. “They can go into the water at speeds of up to 60 miles an hour.”
There’s a colony of gannets on Ailsa Craig, he tells us, as we catch a glimpse of the huge rock in the distance. The uninhabited island’s extremely dense granite is still quarried (outside the seabird breeding season) to make most of the world’s curling stones.
Arran has no shortage of remarkable stones. Last year a rare complete Neolithic cursus (ceremonial enclosure) some 1,100 metres wide was discovered at Drumadoon in the south-west. We are staying nearby in an old farmhouse. From our doorstep it is a short walk through fields of bleating lambs to the stone circles at Machrie Moor. There are the remains of six circles, thought to have been erected around 2000 BC, and all sorts of mythical stories to tell the children – that Fingal the Giant used the stone with a hole in it to tie up his dogs while he ate; that fairies once sat on the top of Durra-na – each throwing pebbles down over the heather that grew in the stones – as they spun in the light drizzle beneath megaliths that are up to five metres high.
My children’s transformation from city kids to mountain goats is completed with a serious hike up and over the saddle at Glen Sannox. They trot along as the path winds through a carpet of ferns and later – as I cling anxiously as the wind picks up in gusts – they clamber up the rocky bits, laughing. At the top we crouch behind a boulder, nibble on crisps and recover for the long, gentle walk down Glen Rosa. In this deep, green valley carved by a glacier hundreds of metres thick, they leap over giant stepping stones into the fire and dodge fat, hairy caterpillars on the path.
We’ve walked eight miles of appetite, but from there it’s not far to the seaside village of Corrie, where the picnic benches outside Mara Fish Bar & Deli are packed with walkers and other hungry holidaymakers tucking into spiced whiting tacos and hand-dived scallop gratin (mains from £9.50). Then we stop at Cladach Beach House, a beach bar on the edge of Brodick, where my husband and I order raspberry Tom Collins made with Arran gin (cocktails from £7.50) while the kids slurp apple juice and play football on the sand with new friends. A little further along, the French Fox serves croque-monsieurs and Breton chicken (with cream and cider) from his vintage turquoise Peugeot van. The Parlour opposite Brodick Beach serves sourdough pizzas and Arran Dairy ice cream.
On our last morning the sun feels even brighter and we buy supplies for a beach picnic at Blackwater Bakehouse, on a small lane behind the Kinloch Hotel. As Henry walks along a thick chocolate bun or a deliciously sticky cinnamon knot from the honesty “bread shed”, I chat to owner George Grassie, who used to live a few streets away from where we now live in south London. He grew up on Arran and moved back so his children could have the same free-spirited childhood he had on the island. Down on the wide, sandy Blackwater beach, I can see his point. A group of young riders on horseback are galloping along the shore (the nearby Cairnhouse Stables run pony trekking tours) and my children are sprinting in and out of the small waves, giddy and screaming. They strip down to their trousers and leap off rocks into the cold water, scouring shallow pools for tiny creatures and skimming stones across the sea. Sacred and magical indeed.
CalMac sails to Arran from Ardrossan (55 minutes) and Troon (1 hour 20 minutes) from €9.20 return as foot traveller; trains from Glasgow Central connect to ferry timesThe author and her family stayed at Balnagore Farm near Machrie (from £650 per week, sleeps 11))