Kilmory Lodge Bunkhouse Kilmory Isle of Arran Scotland KA27 8PQ

The village of Kilmory is half an hour's drive by car from the ferry terminal at Brodick. It's a haven for walkers, cyclists, birdwatchers and anyone interested in outdoor pursuits. Golf, pony trekking, fishing, quad biking, climbing, paragliding are just a few of the activities available nearby. What about strolling along one of the many footpaths, forest tracks or beaches. Within a few minute's walk of the Lodge Bunkhouse is Kilmory Beach, the best kept secret on Arran. Half a mile of deserted sand.

Two hundred yards away is the village of Lagg were you can find Lagg Hotel - why not relax and enjoy a break from the kitchen, treat yourself to a bar meal in the beautiful gardens.

http://www.lagghotel.com/

There are three ways of cycling to the bunkhouse one 17.7 miles, 16.1 miles and 13.7 miles respectively.

The bunkhouse is a purpose built extension to the existing Kilmory Public Hall. Completed this year, we welcomed the first guests in May 2005. We hope to attract groups of all descriptions, clubs, work groups, families, musicians, special interest groups such as birdwatchers, walkers, hill climbers in fact any type of group is welcome.

We can sleep a minimum of 15 up to a maximum of 23 in 4 rooms. Two dormitory style rooms sleeping 8, and two 'leaders' rooms sleeping 3 and 4 respectively and both of these have ensuite facilities.

There are ample toilet and shower facilities for the dormitory guests. We provide bedlinen for the single bed size bunks including sheets and duvets, but guests have to provide their own towels.

Kitchen / Dining area

The modern, well equipped kitchen/dining area is on the first floor and gives views over the Firth of Clyde. Microwave, fridge freezer, and dishwasher are all provided.

This is the only social area of the bunkhouse but has ample space and is well furnished with tables and chairs and everything you need to make your stay comfortable. Within the kitchen is a large drying /airing cupboard with hangers for your outerwear and it also provides extra storage

Take note about the towels!  

Cycling

A variety of terrain awaits the cycling enthusiast and if you don't have your own bike with you, bicycles of all types are available for hire on the island. The 56 miles around the island are a long but popular route and villages along the way provide many opportunities to enjoy fine views. The String road, across the middle of the island, is a testing route but you will be rewarded with spectacular views to the hills. There are many forestry roads now open to the public where you can test yourself and your bike!

http://www.arranbrewery.com/brewery.asp

http://www.arranwhisky.com/Home/

Scotch Drink

Gie him strong drink until he wink,
That's sinking in despair;
An' liquor guid to fire his bluid,
That's prest wi' grief and care:
There let him bouse, an' deep carouse,
Wi' bumpers flowing o'er,
Till he forgets his loves or debts,
An' minds his griefs no more.                                         Solomon's Proverbs, xxxi. 6, 7.

Let other poets raise a fracas
"Bout vines, an' wines, an' drucken Bacchus,
An' crabbit names an'stories wrack us,
An' grate our lug:
I sing the juice Scotch bear can mak us,
In glass or jug.

O thou, my muse! guid auld Scotch drink!
Whether thro' wimplin worms thou jink,
Or, richly brown, ream owre the brink,
In glorious faem,
Inspire me, till I lisp an' wink,
To sing thy name!

Let husky wheat the haughs adorn,
An' aits set up their awnie horn,
An' pease and beans, at e'en or morn,
Perfume the plain:
Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn,
Thou king o' grain!

On thee aft Scotland chows her cood,
In souple scones, the wale o'food!
Or tumblin in the boiling flood Wi' kail an' beef;
But when thou pours
thy strong heart's blood,
There thou shines chief.

Food fills the wame, an' keeps us leevin;
Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin,
When heavy-dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin;
But, oil'd by thee,
The wheels o' life gae down-hill, scrievin,
Wi' rattlin glee.

Thou clears the head o'doited Lear;
Thou cheers ahe heart o' drooping Care;
Thou strings the nerves o' Labour sair,
At's weary toil;
Though even brightens dark Despair
Wi' gloomy smile.

Aft, clad in massy siller weed,
Wi' gentles thou erects thy head;
Yet, humbly kind in time o' need,
The poor man's wine;
His weep drap parritch, or his bread,
Thou kitchens fine.

Thou art the life o' public haunts;
But thee, what were our fairs and rants?
Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts,
By thee inspired,
When gaping they besiege the tents,
Are doubly fir'd.

That merry night we get the corn in,
O sweetly, then, thou reams the horn in!
Or reekin on a New-year mornin
In cog or bicker,
An' just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in,
An' gusty sucker!

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath,
An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith,
O rare! to see thee fizz an freath
I' th' luggit caup!
Then Burnewin comes on like death
At every chap.

Nae mercy then, for airn or steel;
The brawnie, banie, ploughman chiel,
Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel,
The strong forehammer,
Till block an' studdie ring an reel,
Wi' dinsome clamour.

When skirling weanies see the light,
Though maks the gossips clatter bright,
How fumblin' cuiffs their dearies slight;
Wae worth the name!
Nae howdie gets a social night,
Or plack frae them.

When neibors anger at a plea,
An' just as wud as wud can be,
How easy can the barley brie
Cement the quarrel!
It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee,
To taste the barrel.

Alake! that e'er my muse has reason,
To wyte her countrymen wi' treason!
But mony daily weet their weason
Wi' liquors nice,
An' hardly, in a winter season,
E'er Spier her price.

Wae worth that brandy, burnin trash!
Fell source o' mony a pain an' brash!
Twins mony a poor, doylt, drucken hash,
O' half his days;
An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash
To her warst faes.

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well!
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell,
Poor, plackless devils like mysel'!
It sets you ill,
Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell,
Or foreign gill.

May gravels round his blather wrench,
An' gouts torment him, inch by inch,
What twists his gruntle wi' a glunch
O' sour disdain,
Out owre a glass o' whisky-punch
Wi' honest men!

O Whisky! soul o' plays and pranks!
Accept a bardie's gratfu' thanks!
When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks
Are my poor verses!
Thou comes-they rattle in their ranks,
At ither's a-s!

Thee, Ferintosh! O sadly lost!
Scotland lament frae coast to coast!
Now colic grips, an' barkin hoast
May kill us a';
For loyal Forbes' charter'd boast
Is ta'en awa?

Thae curst horse-leeches o' the' Excise,
Wha mak the whisky stells their prize!
Haud up thy han', Deil! ance, twice, thrice!
There, seize the blinkers!
An' bake them up in brunstane pies
For poor damn'd drinkers.

Fortune! if thou'll but gie me still
Hale breeks, a scone, an' whisky gill,
An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will,
Tak a' the rest,
An' deal't about as thy blind skill
Directs thee best.