OVER the half-term holiday we took the opportunity to have a week away on the Isle of Arran. Boarding a Caledonian MacBrayne ferry at the start of any trip always fills me with feeling of adventure, heading somewhere that is a little more remote and often rugged. Our aims were to climb Goatfell, the islands’ highest peak, immerse ourselves in nature, and play a round or two of crazy golf.

On a glorious day, all 2866 feet of Goatfell was climbed, as a family, with many rests and culinary bribes along the way. It became my six-year-old’s first Scottish Mountain. Hopefully the first of many.

Mid-week, the small harbour at Sannox became our crabbing venue. We set ourselves up next to the mooring bollard crafted and painted like a sheep. It is on many a postcard and tourist’s photo. A small harbour, at low tide you can walk around its end. Although the rocks are covered in seaweed and slippy.

Our rig was simple, a length of nylon with a net tied to the end (the kind you used to get with washing machine tablets), filled with crab food and a stone to weigh it down. Crabs will eat just about anything. I have often seen people using sweetcorn, bread and bacon to entice them in. I find a slither of fresh fish works best; they have expensive tastes. Typically, shore crabs would crack open shellfish such as mussels and barnacles, scavenge the dead, and even pray upon smaller crabs.

Lying on our stomachs with arms and head dangling over the edge we lowered our lines into the sea. It was not long until the crabs got the sent of the tasty morsels on offer. We watched as tentatively crabs started to make their way towards the food. Once a crab settled on the bait we pulled our line up gently while the crab hung on and then we placed it in a bucket, pre-filled with seawater, so that we could study its intricate beauty close up. Shore crabs vary in colour, mottled green through to reddish orange, and size. Claws are at the ready and small beady eyes, set back slightly, keep a close eye on any danger, in this case us.

We soon returned the crabs caught to avoid territorial disputes within the bucket and watched as they scuttled away, pleased that we had been able to admire nature usually hidden beneath the depths.

And the crazy golf? Daddy won - of course.

wharfedale-nats.org.uk