Beaches of East Lothian

One of my favourite walks near where we live - perhaps the favourite - is along the coast from North Berwick to Aberlady (or sometimes from Aberlady to North Berwick!) It is a walk of constant interest, a sucession of sandy beaches separated by sea-sculpted rocks - sandstone, volcanic and conglomerate. Yesterday was clear and calm - the first really good day since mid December - with a placid, ice-blue sea, frost in the air, and great visibility, every fold in the cliffs of the distant Isle of May visible.

North Berwick:


We started at North Berwick (the 124 bus, which runs every hour on Sundays between Aberlady and North Berwick, is the key to this linear walk), joyous to be alive and out walking on such a beautiful day. It had been so long since we had been exposed to anything more than passing sunshine.

Yellowcraigs:


The rocky islands of Lamb, Craigleith, Fidra, May and the Bass stud the Forth, and across the water the white-painted houses of the East Neuk villages gleamed on the horizon like barnacles on a rock.

Craigleith:


Beyond the end of Yellowcraigs beach at Craigleith the dog walkers and uncommitted strollers of North Berwick turned back, and only the occasional through walker was seen, even on such a fine weekend day as Sunday. the recent gales have blown huge amounts of empty razor shells ashore. When we looked, there was far more than just razor shells - mussels, cockles, scallops, limpets, whelks, half a sea urchin, crabs.

Seashells:


In the sandstone rocks, half-fossilised remains of seashells can be seen. The remains of their descendants littered the beach, tossed there by the ceaselessly moving surf. I find a great deal of comfort in the rythmns of a wild beach. Nothing is still, yet the fossils indicate continuity over a great span of time.

I wonder if there are any fossils with tracks like this? What could it be?

Starfish trail:


We looked closely and saw a dead starfish at the end of the trail. Alert to the signs, we found more - and returned some lives ones back into the sea. With the tide coming in, they might just survive. A cheery walker told us about the tidal islet of Eyebroughty, but with the tide on the way in, we did not want to risk walking out to it. Plenty of seabirds bobbing up and down in the water today however, and oystercatchers probing the shore. The best time to do this walk is low tide.

Near Eyebroughty:


The walk continued on, past a ruined chapel on a low headland, past swathes of sea-bleached orange thorn berries, to Gullane and sudden crowds, everyone seemingly with a dog, racing across the sands with the freedom of being out the house. Beyond Gullane lies Murder Hill, an infamous piece of natural circuit training. The first time we did this walk, I raced up Murder Hill - it was easy! But it was January, and the sand was frozen. The second time we passed Murder Hill I tried it again - not so easy in summer!

Gullane:


Thorn bushes:


We carried on to Aberlady Bay as the short winter day came to an end, seabirds finding their homes out on the water, Scotland in the Gloaming type photographers and birdwatchers with cameras, tripods and binoculars appearing on the beach access path. It had been a great day to be out.

Sea:


Before Braveheart, most people's exposure to Scottish history was through the novels of Nigel Tranter, who lived in Aberlady and used to wander these sands with a notebook in pocket composing his stories. When we get to the end of this walk, I always like to sit and imagine his mind wandering over 15th century baronial relationships whilst looking out over bay to the Lomonds of Fife, the Pentlands, and Cockenzie Power Station.

Aberlady Bay late afternoon:


It doesn't matter which way you do this walk. You can walk into the sunset at Aberlady Bay and, if the tide is out, wander out to the scuttled WWII midget submarines at the water's edge. Done in the other direction, Berwick Law appears bathed in late afternoon sun above a broad sandy beach, and you finish with a fish supper on the pier and the sound of boats clanking in the gathering darkness.

Just writing about it makes me want to go and do it again this coming weekend...

Old Scans

Clearing out my parents garage, I found some old CDs I thought were lost for ever. The main excitement is being reunited with some songs I had lost and hadn't been able to recreate (like The People With Computers in Their Head), but along with my music CDs were a couple with scans of slides of Scottish scenes.

When I first created loveofscotland.com as a project to fill my spare time when on leave from working offshore (coming up for 13 years ago!) I decided to make pictures no wider than 600 pixels. A good monitor had a resolution of 800 pixels wide. But times change, and so I spent some time this Christmas holiday tidying up the scans and sticking them on loveofscotland.com. Here's a selection...

Castlebay, Barra:


On Curved Ridge, Glencoe:


Castle Tioram:


Rois Bheinn Summit:


Inveraray Castle:


Park Circus, Glasgow:


Edinburgh:


Grey Mare's Tail:


St Monans


Loch Quioch:


Hill House, Helensburgh:



I have plenty more slides I'd like to put online, but no scanner at the moment. Decent ones are still ridiculously expensive, even second hand. Anyway, that will do for now...

New Year Hill

This winter break has been dominated by high winds and rain, the first break in the bad weather coming on the morning of 1 January - we managed to get out for a quick burst of sun before the rain closed in again. Determined to get a bit more fresh air, we headed up the Pentlands the day after.

Allermuir Hill from Caerketton:


What a tonic to be outside in the fresh air and sunshine!

Midlothian skies:


We were battered about by 40mph winds, but exhilarated to have been out and about. There was even a friendly guardian at the top of the ski centre slopes to welcome in the new year with us!

Angusina the New Year Coo, Edinburgh behind:


Shortly after descending, the rain came on again and the wind rose. Happy new year to you all.

Bliadhna nan Gaoithean

The Bawbag Aftermath:


Given that high winds have prevented me from travelling to Glasgow today as planned, perhaps now is the time to recall the wind earlier this winter, that was quickly nicknamed Hurricane Bawbag. A trip to Helensburgh over Christmas revealed plenty of debris still littering the sea front, seaweed and driftwood heaved onto the promenade and concrete seats along the promenade tossed over by the waves. Helensburgh was on the news during Bawbag, and my dad saw a friend's van on the street. He immediately got on the phone.

"Did you see your van on the news?! It's parked on a double yellow line. Better move it before the traffic warden notices."

Last week our snowdrops and aconites came out, and primroses have been flowering since late autumn, all very unusual. Perhaps there will be no real frosts or snow at all this winter in the Lowlands. Instead, after the year of snow last winter, this is shaping up to have been the Year of Winds.

A New Year Toast

Go online and you will see any number of Scottish toasts for Hogmanay. I must confess I haven't heard any of them. So try this one for size:

"May the road rise up to meet you and the wind blow at your back, may a moose ne'er leave your cupboards wi a tear drap in it's ee, may your life be full of freends and never need them, may your enemies dool your fortune and lose their continence, may you glass ne'er be empty and your coffin remain unfilled, lang may your lum reek, as surely you'll be my pint stoup as surely I'll be thine, a host of bonny bairns as weel, a happy 2012 to you all."

That should cover it.

Edinburgh Pubs

It gets dark by 4pm. The wind is howling outside, with fierce bursts of rain.



And there is nothing entertaining on the telly. Thoughts turn to a welcoming hostelry, somewhere to take a few pints and meet some random strangers.



In the countryside, you have to travel several miles to your nearest watering hole. But in the city, there is always one nearby, a dark close lurking at its side for short cuts and cut throats.



Which pub in Edinburgh are you most likely to visit, should you venture outside?

St Abbs Head

If like me you grew up on the west coast, where the hills meet the sea in an island-studded eternity of summer twilight, you'll probably scoff at the supposed beauties of the southeast coast. What possible interest is there beyond Edinburgh? This is an attitude born of ignorance. For the coast of Berwickshire is one of Scotland's little known highlights. Burnmouth, Coldingham Bay, St Abbs Head, Fast Castle, Cove: yet sometimes it seems only divers care for the Berwickshire coast, and that is because of the amazing subsea reefs and psychedelically coloured creatures beneath St Abbs Head. My west coast eyes were first opened on a walk from Dunbar to Tynemouth (you can read about it here). Then I first became aware of the character and beauty of the Berwickshire - and Northumberland - coast.

Cliffs at St Abbs Head:


St Abbs Head has become associated in my mind with winter walks, enjoying the wind and exposure at the lighthouse, and shivering in the shade at Coldingham Bay. I love walking along the cliff edge in the exhilarating wind, looking at the sea stacks and geos, and heading down into the picturesque village of St Abbs and the beach at Coldingham Bay. Because it is always winter, and it is always late afternoon when we visit, it always seems to be dark at Coldingham - but St Abbs Head juts out a bit and catches the last of winter daylight.

The lighthouse:


St Abbs is named after the 7th century princess Aebbe, the daughter of Aethelfrith of Bernicia, the kingdom that stretched from the Forth to the Wear. When her father was killed in 616, Aebbe and her brothers fled to the sanctuary of the court of Donald Brecc of Dalriada (modern day Argyll). There they learned Christianity at the feet of monks who had known Columba. Their fortunes turned and in 633 Aebbe's brother Oswald became king of Bernicia. At the same time as Oswald invited Aidan over from Iona to set up Bernicia's most important abbey at Lindisfarne, Aebbe set up religious communities at Ebchester and, in 640, Coldingham, where she stayed for the rest of her life.

The village of St Abbs from the Head:


St Abbs therefore is a placename that can be precisely located in time, but not the time you might think. This village was called Coldingham Shore until 1890, when the local laird had it renamed. We walked past the houses clustered round the harbour and down to the beach of Coldingham Bay. The sand was frozen solid. "It's a sign that it's a bit cold for that!" I said to a surfer, who grinned back loonishly, waxing his board, whilst his friend stripped off in the keen wind for a neoprene wetsuit. No matter how daft you think you are in getting your kicks, there is always someone crazier than yourself out there.

Crazy fools:


Back at the lighthouse it was just about to get dark, and a strange searchlight swept the hillside. What was that? Where was the helicopter that must have shone it? There was no noise except the wind. The light came again and then it dawned on me. It was the beam from the lighthouse. We enjoyed this silent sweep of light as we scrambled back up to the head and our wind-buffeted car, rosy-cheeked and looking forward to a bath and a fire.