National Geographic : 1965 Jul
Home to Arran, Scotland's Magic Isle dow? We used flashlights and Morse code to signal our plans for the morning. The pigsty was gone, the smiddy too. Dreams Come True on "the Roost" Down to the heart of the village now, to the one-sided main street of shops interspersed with homes, boardinghouses, and tearooms. A wooden railing that once was gray and weathered separated street from beach. We called it "the Roost." Here boys used to perch in the morning and watch for girls. At night, too, but then the Roost was for contemplation, and a man of 19 could turn his back on the road to gaze along the deserted beach up over the green of Glenshant Hill to the near-perfect pyramid of Goat Fell. Smoke a pipe here in the long gloaming, and dreams were not only possible, they were certain. But nobody sat on the Roost this day, per haps because they had painted it gleaming white. Along the beach ran the line of bathing huts, the colors varied to help a child find KODACHROMESBY NATIONALGEOGRAPHICPHOTOGRAPHERROBERTF. SISSON © N.G.S . "Put some muscle in it, laddies!" A kilted coach exhorts his team during a tug of war in the Highland Games at Brodick. All wear the Royal Stuart tartan. The annual test of balance and brawn derives from the days of the clans, when young warriors fiercely competed for family honor. Modern games include marching, pipe bands, and Highland flings, along with the traditional sports. Grimacing with strain, a contestant at the Brodick Games (left) tosses the caber Gaelic for pole. He tries to heave the tree trunk so that it will land on its upper end and fall away from him. Scottish record toss is 42 feet. Solitude soothes a trout fisherman along the North Glen Sannox, and brings to mind the words of Izaak Walton: "These crystal springs should solace me; To whose harmo nious bubbling noise, I with my angle would rejoice."