The Logistics
Planning any trip is an iterative process. So two trip planning enthusiasts/logistics sickos planning a multi-modal trip to a remote region during a disastrous time period for the Scottish ferry system was bound to be a carnival of sorts. Our tentpoles were the book signing at Dunaverty, the associated stop at Machrihanish, some adventure out west, and then ending up on Arran, which isn’t the easiest place to get back to.
Ferry service interruptions and drastically limited frequency to Askernish/Barra/Harris put a crimp into things. Our best-laid plans to get to Askernish were dashed, unless we wanted to scratch Oban and spend a couple days getting there and back. We looked at flying, even going so far as to look at going from Campbeltown to Glasgow and then out to South Uist. That simply wasn’t logical. Will get there one day!
This was the first draft of the intinerary.
The finalized itinerary.
In the midst of all of this desire to get to the farthest reaches of the Hebrides, we were able to dig deeper on Kintyre and the west coast, afforded the time to spend a leisurely morning at Carradale, pop into Isle of Seil (and cross the “Bridge Over the Atlantic!”, set up a base in Oban for a couple nights, and get into a pickle on Mull. I do wish we’d carved out time for Gigha, but it would’ve meant a rushed middle of the trip. Tradeoffs!
Jim’s sense of curiosity can’t be overstated. Everywhere we went, native Scots approached Jim to tell him they’d never even considered stepping foot at many of the courses that he chronicled in the book, much less even heard of some of them. Also, as Jim mentioned on the podcast (link here), our sense of scale and distance is so warped as Americans. This often gets lost when people explore the possibility of Scottish trips. We’d be wise to be more like the Scots and dig deeper instead of casting such a wide net - there’s another two or three levels underneath what everyone typically does, and the context generates a deeper appreciation for why the great courses are great.
The Midnight Troubadour
Tough and timeless, this polo is built for the long ride. Featuring a crisp, non-collapsing collar and a rugged, stretchy fabric, it's the perfect shirt for any cowboy's wardrobe.
Jim and I tend to put trips together similarly: identify a few mainstays, a few whimsical places, and then draw a line around those and figure out how crazy and far afield we can get, and then dial it back from there. It helps to have some constraints (like hotel availability or additional people in the traveling party who aren’t insane) to reign us in, otherwise I think we would end up out in the Orkneys and I’d be calling my wife that the trip is gonna go another three days and I’ll be home late. Leaning into the surprises and using them as an opportunity is the key. And building in that space to explore and not be scheduled out is wonderful, as it lets you glean intel and expertise from people along the way. Another plus of these less-visited locales and courses is that you can be flexible and rock up without a tee time. That’s certainly not the case everywhere (particularly Shiskine, Machrihanish in our case), but for every Carradale or Seil that we visited, there are 10 others waiting in the wings, both in these areas and in other places.
The Drive
Jet lag, luggage, squeezing in some fun. The first day is always a bit of a circus. The drive from GLA out past Loch Lomond and then down the Kintyre Peninsula is a treat. Just as with East Lothian and Fife, a flight into Glasgow provides dozens of options for same-day golf (even a 36-hole day is in the cards). Conversely, I recall vacations Neil and I were fortunate enough to take as kids when we’d go out west to go skiing and you’d travel all day and then have to go rent skis or snowboard and then wait until the next day to hit the slopes. The anticipation was real and exhilarating, especially for such a sensory, physical experience. The drive from Glasgow provided whiffs of that: the procedural steps of passing through immigration, collecting the rental car (which both EDI and GLA are set up pretty poorly for, but also have delightful counter agents) and then setting off over the big bridge, past Loch Lomond and counterintuitively northward, until finally turning south hard against Loch Fyne (more on the oyster bar later) and down the A83 through (insert town names Inveraray, Lochgair, Lochgilpead, Ardrishaig and then Tarbert, and Paul McCartney’s farm and then crest the hill north of Machrihanish and peering down the coast in awe with the setting sun filling up the driver side of the car.
The distance is 57 miles and a continent (galaxy?) away. Sure, you could fly into the Campbeltown Airport that buts up against the ninth green at Machrihanish and marvel at one of the longest runways on earth (shoutout space shuttles and B2 and SEALS) and for shorter trips, why not, but if you really want the full monty, then drive. And we haven’t even gotten to Arran yet, which sits halfway back to reality but somehow even farther away. It’s like if someone took the geography of the Big Island of Hawaii, mixed it with the feeling and culture of the Scottish Highlands and dropped it 30 miles from the biggest city in the country. In the words of Jim: it’s not an accurate depiction of reality.
Campbeltown
The triangle formed by the tiny village of Machrihanish on the west side of the peninsula, Campbeltown straight east occupying an impressive harbor, and Southend about twenty minutes south. Each borough has its own distinctive atmosphere: Machrihanish feels like an outpost at the edge of the earth, Campbeltown a glimpse at the past of thirty-something distilleries and a regional dairy and shipping center, shrinking away and reduced to three distilleries (Glenscotia, Glengyle, and Springbank - count me on team Glenscotia); and Dunaverty, smaller than you expect, looking out toward Sanda Island, and it’s tea house and wee golf course and then Dunaverty Rock, the abandoned Keil Hotel (owned by our guy Donnie!), Keil Cave, St Colomba’s footprint and the shores of Northern Ireland looming across the strait, the Harbor Bar and Portrush over there.
Local Flavor
Since my first visit to Scotland in 2017, I’ve been inherently confused by the widespread derision of the country as a culinary backwater. Whether it’s at a highly regarded restaurant in Edinburgh, a two-person kitchen in a tiny clubhouse on Arran or Moray, or at a tea room in Dunaverty, I’ve been blown away by the ingredients and preparations. From the toasties and soup at a pub or small clu
Source: https://nolayingup.com/blog/when-revelation-comes-scotland-loose-ends