The Journey North. Day 7. Saturday 28^th Apr 2018

From: Hadrian’s Wall Camping, Melkridge.  To: Crainlarich GR:NN386253  Mileage: 177

We wished the staff farewell at Hadrian’s Camping and made our way to Solway Aviation Museum. This is on the edge of what is euphemistically called Carlisle Airport! There is a runway and they are resurfacing it. Apparently some time in 2018 it is intended that flights will operate between here and London area. It is hoped this will bring in more tourists.



The Pilot going on board.



From the upper flightdeck in the Vulcan.

From the Nav, engineer and bomb aimers deck looking up to the pilots seats and deck.

 

The entrance fee of £4 (OAP) or £6 adult also included a cockpit visit to the Avro Vulcan XJ823. I say cockpit. You can climb inside the crews’ quarters, or rather the flight deck area but are no longer allowed up the next ladder into the cockpit proper where the pilots sit. Apparently far too many bits and pieces were being nicked by visitors. You can thankfully pear between the seats and out the window. There is little or no room in these things. The flight engineer, bomb aimer and navigator had a six foot wide bench upon which they all ‘worked’. There was an area perhaps where one person might stretch out and sleep, not a bunk but a storage area. This is where the chemical toilet was tied in, splashes of chemical from it still stain the glass and metal plates! These days you are accompanied ‘on board’ by a volunteer at the museum who gives a very informative chat on the subject pointing out such things as radios, radars, bomb release, remote joystick to control the aircraft and of course the personal bladders into which one could pee. Jackie was all over the flight deck like she was ex aircrew. Snapping away with the camera.

Phantom.

Whirlwind. It was very much a rotting shell on closure inspection.

Meteor. Late 1940's

Lightning



Canberra, with cockpit access.

There were other static aircraft on display from one of the earliest Whirlwind helicopters to a Lightning, Phantom, Jet Provost, Canberra and a Percival trainer (Chk this Mike). There was also an indoor display area which held a Vampire, Cessna 152 and a few other aircraft. The main building held a very informative display of WW2 memorabilia from local pilots and parts off Spits and Hurricanes. The 5 staff on duty were great fun and all liked a good joke. God bless volunteers eh?

After about three hours we headed North up the M7/M74. We were now in the lowlands of Scotland with hills away on either side, growing taller as we drove North. We passed through Glasgow on the motorway system. It had nothing to recommend it. Passing over the Erskine Bridge we turned left through Clydebank, for a moment we were tempted to swing left for five miles and visit Jackies relatives at Helensburgh. No we had to press on. We were now on the A82 skirting the West side of Loch Lomond. Leaving the North end of the Loch we started to climb out of the ‘valley’ Our target for tonight was Crainlarich. This is a small village on the, just off and way downhill, West Highland Way. A renown walking route from Glasgow to Fort William.

Now in Glencoe.



Still snow on the mountain tops.

We had found on Brit stops a pub, The Rod and Reel in Crainlarich. It’s press was better than the reality. Of course that might be true of so many things in life. We walked in. I checked. Yes they  allowed use of their car park overnight if you bought food within. The last 177 miles made us feel tired and lazy. A quick meal sounded good. Yes we could stay FOC. Mike had a steak pie that was rammed with meat, carrots, long beans, chips and gravy. Jackie went for the healthy Salmon.

A couple of ladies walked in shouldering large bergans, they were Dutch. They had been 4 days on the West Highland Way headed for Fort William, another three days walk. We engaged them in conversation before they left to set up tent for the night not far away.

Whilst eating our grub we spotted a camper van in the public car park opposite. It was on the level, our pub stop dictated a distinct downhill slope. On leaving the pub we upped anchor and drove across and hulled down. Out came the books and we started to chill. Various campers came and went. We were opposite the local ‘nick’. In my mind security. No boy racers, no dogging! Whilst looking up to the mountains, now starting to get rather impressive, I noticed not far away across the fields a green tent with a couple of figures. Thinking it was probably the two Dutch girls I returned to my reading. Not long later I noticed the tent being struck. You don’t pack up at 2000 hrs for no reason. I bet its those girls and they have pitched on the cattle trail, we could see cows and calves wandering nearby. The girls disappeared from view for twenty minutes until they reappeared at our camper window. I waved and jumped out to chat. They had indeed been frightened off by the cows and were on their way back to the pub to seek advice. I suggested the camping on the green next to us but they had already asked locals and they were told no. They made their way into the pub. Not long after it started to rain. I hope they managed to get established before that.

About an hour later we heard some noise from outside despite the patter of rain on the roof and looking out I saw the girls taking down the tent again from the green. If they had ever managed to erect it? A man in an umbrella was chatting to them he must have said follow me and offered them some sort of better option as they soon picked up traps and followed him down the road opposite us. Mike peering out from behind the curtains. Can’t wait to catch ‘em up soon and find out what happened.