An Invitation. A Journey.
Ben Reilly
It began with a missed call. On Monday 25th November at 4.30pm, Jim English (the man behind Kay’s Curling) rang. I quickly answered to ask if I could return his call the next morning. He agreed without hesitation.
The following day, I phoned back. We spoke briefly about my email outlining a photographic project on the subject of curling stones. Jim admitted he didn’t quite grasp what I was aiming for, but he was intrigued. Then, he extended an unexpected invitation: a trip to Ailsa Craig. He and a small team were heading out for a preparatory visit and thought I might appreciate tagging along. I jumped at the chance.
At 7.30am the next morning, I boarded a train from Ayr to Girvan. The sky was a canvas of violet and blue, slowly brightening as the sun crept up behind the hills.
Arriving at Girvan harbour, I was approached by Robin. I didn’t yet know he was the captain of the tugboat, but I would soon come to see how integral he was to the granite harvesting operations. Before long, Jim arrived with Dave, a climbing companion, followed by Campbell and his son, Kai, who operated the plant machinery that would be supplied for the operation. The boat, still glazed with frost from the night before, rocked gently in the harbour as we boarded.
At 8.30am we pushed off. The sky was now awash in streaks of orange and pink, casting golden light across the bay. As we surged into the Firth of Clyde, the rising sun cast the boat and the rolling waves in a fiery red glow, the kind that renders silence even from the most talkative.
The boat tore across the water. The minus 10 degrees wind cut deep, yet amidst the discomfort, the beauty was unrelenting and unforgettable. Gilded crests of open sea stretched endlessly, the ocean shining with a greenish-gold hue. The shores of Ailsa Craig drew closer by the minute.
Docking was delicate – the pier demanded precision – and each of us leapt for the platform as the waves rocked the vessel. The cliffs of Ailsa Craig rose above us – rugged, volcanic, timeless. Winter heather clung to the hillsides in patches of muted purple and brown, a soft contrast to the pale shimmer of common green granite threaded through the craggy slopes. The air was sharp with salt and cold, a memorable first sensation from stepping onto the island for the first time. It once held an air of mystery that, up until that moment, I could never quite define.
The absence of nesting seabirds, migrated for the winter, lent a rare silence. The island, stripped of its usual cries, seemed suspended in time. I briefly closed my eyes, listening to the rhythmic thunder of the waves before stepping onto the shore – a place where nature, history, and human endeavour intertwine.
We moved south along the shoreline, Jim sharing tales of the island’s history: the ruins of a 16th century tower, abandoned gasworks, forgotten cottages. In every direction, the land bore silent witness to centuries of historical significance and storm-tossed seas.
Large boulders spray-painted for future extraction sat quietly on the shoreline, awaiting their turn.
Jim detailed the granite extraction process: clean, calculated, and deeply respectful of the island’s natural form and undisturbed wildlife. As we continued along the island, seals followed us along the shoreline, our curious companions.
Returning along the eastern edge, we explored old buildings, some collapsed, others recently occupied – quiet signs of human activity. We stumbled upon a stone house – a tearoom from the 1950s – both a surprising and poignant discovery amidst thoughts of steam rising from teacups on wind-battered windowsills.
As we departed, Ailsa Craig fading behind us, I felt a profound sense of gratitude to have visited this island. Not just by its stark beauty, but by the harmony of people and place, of careful craft and conservation.
Ailsa Craig reminds us what stewardship looks like: a living landscape, worked with reverence and protected with purpose.
As the morning progressed, I was not just documenting a journey, I was witnessing a story in motion – one that stretches far beyond Ailsa Craig’s isolated history and carefully safe-guarded landscape. The conservational efforts to maintain the island’s natural habitat surrounding an active quarry, quickly became the narrative of which these photos represent.
The island and the trip have left an indelible mark on me. The wee rock that once sat mysteriously beneath the setting sun as I watched from the Ayrshire coast, now holds the weight of my careful footsteps – a silent reminder of my first journey to its shores.
