Stranded on Arran
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| Rainbow over Brodick Bay, Isle of Arran |
I’ve always liked the Isle of Arran. It’s close enough to the mainland to feel accessible, yet still has that “island magic” to it. The way Arran is advertised makes it sound like the perfect place for an affordable adventure: climb a mountain, breathe in the sea air, then come back down for a hot meal and a ferry home. Safe, simple, refreshing. At least, that’s what I thought.
Climbing Goatfell: The Long Haul
Difficult approach to Goatfell's summit
Goatfell itself didn’t disappoint. The climb from Brodick Ferry Terminal took me 4.5 hours to get almost to the very top. The last stretch is steep and would have added another hour. I chose instead to return along the northern ridge to Corrie, which took 2h 15 minutes.
Going down was just as tough as climbing up, with huge rocks slowing the descent. The path is well marked up until halfway, but after that I relied on Google Maps. What struck me most was the lack of distance markers — no reassuring signs telling you “2 hours to the summit” or “3 km to go.” Without those, you’re constantly guessing where you stand against the mountain.
I’d recommend bringing a head torch in case you’re still out when it gets dark and a power bank to charge your phone. And remember: there isn't any obvious mountain rescue or emergency services to call. It makes Goatfell more dangerous than its friendly reputation suggests.
Into Darkness
That lack of infrastructure became painfully obvious on the way down. By the time I reached the base, daylight was gone. I walked the last 30 minutes in complete darkness, my phone torch barely lighting the path.
The descent took me along the northern ridge of Goatfell, down to the village of Corrie. I arrived around 8:30pm, tired and cold, but still with a problem: I needed to get to Lochranza, where I had booked a bed at the Youth Hostel.
The Taxi That Wasn’t
To me, “Arran Taxi” should mean exactly that: a taxi service covering Arran. Anywhere, anytime. You call, they come.
Instead, the driver told me bluntly: “That’s not for me.”
He said he doesn’t cover this part of the island and that 8:30 pm on a Sunday was too late for him. When I explained that without his help I would be stranded, he remained unresponsive — even though I offered to pay extra to cover his petrol, time, and effort.
Two other taxi companies on Arran didn't even pick up.
Corrie to Brodick is barely a 17-minute drive. I called the hostel and asked if they could arrange a lift for me. To their credit, the young staff couldn’t drive, and there wasn't a car at their disposal. With reception closing at 9m, the hostel agreed to leave the key out for me, but this is where their assistance ended.
Traditionally, youth hostels used to be lifelines for hikers — now, not so much.
And there I was, alone in the dark, facing the prospect of a three-hour walk from Corrie to Lochranza in complete pitch blackness.
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Even the Police
In my frustration, I called the Scottish Police. Naively, I thought they might have a patrol car nearby, or be willing to help me. And on a quiet Sunday evening on the Isle of Arran, I doubted they were busy with a bank heist or an organised crime bust.
At first, they seemed helpful. They asked where I was and what I could see around me. I mentioned the sound of water — there’s a small waterfall beside Corrie and Sannox Community Hall. They seemed surprised, as though I was making it up. But it’s true: just an isolated spot with one lamp post, the waterfall, and then nothing but darkness and the stars.
The police told me to call a taxi. I explained that I already had — and that the taxi driver refused to come. At first, they couldn’t seem to process that. They kept circling back with awkward questions: did I have family on the island? Was there someone who could pick me up?
Meanwhile, I was standing there, shivering in the dark, with frost already coating the grass. The temperature near the ground was close to zero. A sharp wind came off the sea and I could feel my body heat evaporating, leaving me colder by the minute.
The Walk Towards the Light
With no solution at hand, I started walking along the pitch-black road, my phone torch the only light cutting through the night. I was exhausted, freezing, and on the edge of despair. About ten minutes later, I saw a glow in the distance: the lit-up sign of the Corrie Hotel.
At first I thought I might be imagining it. That’s how drained I was. But it was real.
I pulled the hotel door, not sure if it would be open or if they’d have space for me. But it was open. Inside it was warm — blissfully, wonderfully warm — and they had a room. I paid £85 on the spot, went straight upstairs, and collapsed into bed. Relieved. Safe. With a roof over my head. No late night walk to Lochranza necessary.
Too Little, Too Late
About 30 minutes later, the police finally rang back. Their initial promise of “assistance” had, it turned out, boiled down to this: go to Corrie Hotel and ask if they’d drive me to Lochranza.
By that time, I was already at the hotel. Police's advice — essentially asking one business to drive me to another, late at night — felt both impractical and absurd.
Not Just a Bad Night — A Matter of Trust
This isn’t just about one night gone wrong. It’s about trust. Because once the sun goes down on Arran, there is no Uber, no buses, no trains, and, apparently, no taxi willing to leave a comfort zone — even when someone is stranded in the dark, miles from where they need to be.
What unsettled me most was the complete lack of concern and no emergency services on the island. Nobody seemed bothered by the idea that a tourist — or anyone — might have to walk for hours at night along freezing, unlit country roads. Maybe locals accept it as normal. But as a visitor, it felt careless. Almost hostile.
Who Is Arran Really For?
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| Brodick, Isle of Arran |
Arran sells itself as a hiker’s paradise. But once you’re there, you discover the more sinister truth.
If you want to explore deeper, climb the mountains, or venture beyond the obvious, you need to understand one simple truth: you are entirely on your own.
Calling It What It Is
And I do want to call Arran Taxi by name. When I phoned them at 8:30 pm from Corrie and asked for a ride to Lochranza, the driver said flatly: “That’s not for me.”
But if that isn’t for him, then what is? What rides are for him? Why is he allowed to operate under the name Arran Taxi when he refuses entire sections of the island?
That’s not just disappointing. It’s misleading at best, and dangerous at worst. And I believe it warrants investigation by the local licensing authority under the Civic Government (Scotland) Act 1982, which regulates taxi and private hire licensing.
“It’s not for me.”
That phrase stuck. If the local taxi company won’t pick up visitors, then who will? And if the island can’t offer reliable transport, emergency services, or safe access after dark — then perhaps Arran isn’t really for tourists at all. Not safe, not accessible. And if that’s the case… why would we go there?
Ferry Saga
Coming back from Arran turned into a saga as well. I boarded the Brodick–Troon ferry at 11:25am, reaching Troon an hour later — only to find there was no shuttle bus to Ardrossan for another 1.5 hours. By the time I finally got home to Saltcoats, it was nearly 4pm.
That’s 6 hours of travel just to get back from an island that I can literally see from my flat window. The contrast between “so close” and “so far” couldn’t have been sharper.
A Silver Lining in Corrie
The best part of the trip was stumbling upon Corrie Hotel. It’s a pet-friendly hotel — you can stay there with your dog, and the atmosphere is warm and welcoming. Better still, it’s open all night, offers breakfast included, and caters properly for solo travellers with real single rooms (not just doubles made slightly cheaper). It sits right by the northern Goatfell path.
Corrie itself is known for seal sightings — there’s even a sculpture of a seal nearby. Just along the shore you’ll also find the mysterious “Doctor’s Bath,” a large hollow in the rocks where seawater collects to form a natural pool, almost like a wild jacuzzi.
Final Thoughts
Arran sells itself as an adventure destination. That part is true. But what nobody tells you is that adventure can quickly turn into survival. And not everyone came here for that.
Agnes Prygiel