It may seem rather pretentious to use the title of Carl Jung’s autobiography as the heading for this page but it seemed to sum up the contents better than anything else.

My long held dream of walking the coast of mainland Britain is, finally, done. The seed of this walk was planted many years ago. Back in 1971 I went on an expedition to Iceland and my enthusiasm for wild places began. A year or two later the leader of the expedition sent to the expedition members an old-fashioned duplicated copy of his account of his walk around the South-West Coast of Britain. This was before the official South-West Coast Path had been inaugurated. I was enthused by the idea but, I thought, ‘Why stop at the south-west? Why not go the whole way round the coast of Britain?’

The reality was that I had started at medical school and so there was no way I could embark on such a project for a long time.  In 1978, whilst at medical school, I discovered that John Merrill was walking the coast of Britain and he phoned in regular reports to the BBC Today radio programme. His was the first documented walk around the coast of Britain. There was no longer any sense of urgency for me since I could no longer be first and so the project went on the back burner for the rest of my medical career.

I still dreamed of this walk from time to time but generally kept it to myself. I did read an account of a walk around the coast of Britain “The Sea on our Left” by the wife of a dentist who walked the coast together and skilfully used their Rotarian connections to help provide accommodation and support for their walk. Theirs is the only other complete circumnavigation by a married couple that I know of.

It was not until 2019 that I felt there was a pause in my life and the heat under the back burner was turned up and I started poring over maps. From then, for the next four years, my/our lives have been dominated by this project. It is true that we had almost a year off walking due to Covid-19 and the various restrictions and limitations that placed upon us but even then I could plan the route and dream on.

When I started out, I did not know whether I would really keep going. I have never been fond of the sea and have never enjoyed beach holidays. However, this walk has never been about the sea or sitting on beaches in the sun. We paddled in the sea rarely, usually only when the tide had come in unexpectedly fast or when we crossed rivers where they met the sea. We have reluctantly sat on beaches to eat our sandwiches from time to time but we prefer to find a rocky perch for our behinds if there is no convenient bench or grassy ledge.

For me, this walk has been one of discovery of the history and geography of our beautiful country and a journey of self-discovery and discovery of the resilience of my relationship with my wife. We are still happily married and I am sure we have a deeper understanding of each other. Even after forty-seven years of marriage there are things we can learn about each other – but perhaps not very many.

When Jill decided to join me on this walk, she had just had knee surgery and at the end of each day her knee would be swollen and she would rest it up enclosed in an elastic bandage and still be ready for a new challenge the next day. Jill has a remarkable ability to dig deep and keep going despite the odds. We never abandoned a walk on Jill’s account; indeed the only injury that required us to lose any walk-time was when I tore a calf muscle as we approached St Just’s shortly after Land’s End. I was indeed the weakest link.

Inevitably as I have planned routes with Jill we have imagined what the terrain will be like. The much-revered Alfred Wainwright said that he could look at maps and form an image of the terrain in his mind. He never reported whether that image was, in fact, accurate. I have been surprised by how bad I have been at predicting the terrain and difficulty or ease of walking from studying maps. Maps provide information on gradient and altitude by means of contours but the effort of climbing cliffs is determined more by the surface beneath one’s feet than the incline. Loose stone stone or slippery mud can make relatively simple climbs hard work whilst a firm, rocky ascent preserves your energy and can be exhilarating, elevating one both physically and mentally.

Even the relatively level places have their challenges. Sand dunes are an obvious example. No sensible walker will go out of their way to walk through soft dunes. There are some quite good, relatively stable paths along the tops of dunes particularly in an area of well-established dunes. Curiously OS maps make little differentiation between centuries-old areas of stable dunes and more recent, soft, shifting dunes which are a nightmare for walking and navigation.

Foolishly I had imagined that sandy beaches marked on maps were just that. In short, storms can move sand and shingle, and the shore line is far from constant. Sand itself varies remarkably. Just as the Inuit are said to have ten different terms for different types of snow  I feel we need more than one term for sand. Walking along a damp, sandy beach can be an absolute delight; the surface can be as smooth as a billiard table and just as firm. In other places it can be rippled and very soft more akin to sinking into mud. Dry sand is generally best avoided because it is usually hard work and sometimes, if the grains if sand are very fine, it is extremely hard work. Fortunately we managed to avoid any sinking sands.

We have had one or two challenges on salt marshes mainly because there can be a myriad of little and not-so-little channels which will fill with the incoming tide alarming quickly. Even without the incoming tide, picking one’s way across can be messy and time-consuming.

Ordnance Survey maps remain a delight to use and are extraordinarily accurate – most of the time. Clearly coastal erosion does require maps to be regularly revised and, with the speed of erosion on the east coast, maps often show paths or indeed roads that no longer exist. The OS is very good at showing Rights of Way in England and Wales. However, just because a right of way exists it does not necessarily mean that there is a walkable path on the ground; there are places where another path has become established through custom and practice and usurped a Right of Way which can no longer be found, let alone followed. The OS seems to be quite slow at marking new, alternative routes even using the “other paths” pecked line symbol. Interestingly I have just noticed that the OS has managed to change the labelling of the England Coast Path to King Charles III England Coast Path – perhaps they have a “Find and Paste” facility. In Scotland the situation is considerably worse; there are very few “Rights of Way” and those that exist are marked no differently from all other paths. Scotland has introduced a system of “Core Paths” and each county or administrative area has created a list and map of these core paths. Unfortunately the state of the core paths is very variable. Some are proposed paths and do not fully exist though most are based on existing paths. It is intended that the core paths should be maintained to a minimum standard so that they are useable and passable. As yet this is some way off.  In Scotland there are just too few walkers to be able to maintain a continuous coast path and, even where there is a designated path, it may be completely overgrown in the summer. There is the much talked about “Right to Roam” in Scotland which allows walkers to access most land excepting domestic gardens and farm curtilages and industrial areas. We have availed ourselves of this right many times on our walk. However, once access is gained, the terrain may not be readily walkable and just as there is a right to roam, land owners have a right to fence. The land-owning community have a particular predilection for barbed wire. As I have mentioned several times in the blog, I took to carrying a length of thick, foam pipe insulation which weighs almost nothing and can be put over barbed wire or indeed electric fences to enable safe and comfortable crossing.

Discussing access would not be complete without mentioning those landowners who resolutely resist access to their land and do their best to obstruct walkers. Scotland has some particularly bad examples where finger posts have been removed and direction posts dug out to try and deter walkers. Equally Scotland has had some very welcoming estates. In England the official coast path makes a few diversions where permission to route a coast path has not been granted. Notable examples are the north coast of Norfolk where the Sandringham Estate owns most of the land. We did, however, walk through un-impeded. In Essex, by contrast, the Benn’s (formerly Anthony Wedgewood-Benn) estate has denied access to the coast and it was certainly inaccessible when we walked that way. Fortunately it is only a small section of coast.

Landowners are not generally unpleasant people; they just don’t want general access to their land by all and sundry. Given the litter and lack of respect for the countryside by many visitors that is understandable. However, we have asked for permission to cross private land to keep us closer to the coast and we have never been denied access and some owners have been positively helpful. A simple phone call or email of explanation is usually all that is required.

I had a rather naive romantic idea at the outset that I would wander along the coast calling in at cafés and pubs along the way. Quite simply, as soon as Covid-19 restrictions came into force, that was impossible; all the booking ahead and queueing two metres apart made it untenable. By the time English regulations were fully lifted we were in north-west England and seaside cafés are less frequent.  Scotland was later than England in abandoning Covid restrictions and they were still in force as we embarked on Scotland. Even without Covid, cafés tend to be clustered in towns and larger villages and, as the coast path rarely goes the centre of such places, one can often go for miles and miles with nothing at all. Even where cafés exist, they nearly always close by 4pm and often earlier.

I wish I could give a simple answer to the question “Which bit of coast have we enjoyed the most?” Firstly, it may be different for Jill.  What I seem to recall as highlights of our trip are more the situations or wildlife than the part of the country or particular view.

I enjoyed my start from Berwick and down the Northumberland and Durham coasts but that was was very much because it was the realisation of what a great adventure I had embarked upon and discovering that I was still fit enough to undertake it.

I would, perhaps, liked to have taken the walk at a slower pace and explore more of the places we passed through. In reality, had we done so, it would have taken much much longer. There are too many possible places to visit along the way. Fortunately, Covid “put paid” to that because all the attractions closed down for the duration and so we had nothing to stop us piling on the miles.

The South West Coast Path was a great walking experience. The path exists and is way-marked and well used and so it is easy to follow. There were also a good number of villages and road access points and so we really made good time despite the considerable amount of climbing. We completed it in about 35 days which is a good deal faster than the “recommended itinerary” on the SW coast path website. We enjoyed the walk but it lacks the remoteness and wildness that we were to encounter in Scotland.

Scotland will remain a highlight of the walk, but not all of Scotland. We walked well over 2000 miles in Scotland and we had some truly memorable walks in the highlands where we experienced extremes of weather both hot and cold and extreme gales. We walked some of the most difficult terrain of the entire walk and stayed in some very remote locations. We saw a good range of wildlife. For me, the extremely cold, snowy days from Gairloch to Ullapool will remain some of my favourite walks, as was the Postie’s Path from Ardmair to Achiltibuie. Our walk from Blairmore to Sandwood Bay and onto Cape Wrath has to be memorable even if not all of the memories are good. After a week of fabulous weather it was on this remote walk that the weather started to break. It was damp and windy getting to Sandwood Bay and when we got there the tide was in and so we could not see the the full extent of the sands, let alone walk them. We had a good walk onward cross-country to the lighthouse at Cape Wrath and whilst it had its challenges we found it quite do-able. Our stay at the lighthouse felt quite surreal and took on the feeling of a nightmare as we shivered our way through the night as the storm broke. When we set off the next morning into the gale, we were glad to be on our way and to warm up. It was a pretty miserable tramp out and round the Kyle of Durness and the wind did not let up the whole day. To add to the miseries, Jill took a tumble and had a painful hip. But we made it round the remotest, most inhospitable corner of the mainland and it felt like a real achievement and I feel a sense of pride in that.

After rounding Cape Wrath, it felt as if we were on our way home. We still had a long way to go but there was a feeling of certainty. We also knew that we had grandchildren on the way, one with our daughter-in-law and another with our daughter. They were due two months apart, towards the end of the year and so we had a huge incentive to get our walk completed before they arrived.

Despite walking for about 5500 miles “together”, I have never quite managed to get my pace to match that of Jill. For no reason that I can really understand I nearly always finish up walking fifty or a hundred yards ahead but rarely more. I would always stop at gates or stiles or path divisions for Jill to catch up but then after a few minutes I would have drifted ahead again. I did try walking behind Jill but she really hated being aware I was just behind her and psychologically pushing her on. We have been together for fifty years and so we know how each other tick; we don’t actually need to walk closely together to enjoy and share our walks.

I remain in awe of Jill’s ability to pull out a little bit extra when the going got tough. When she joined me at Saltburn she had a post-operative knee to contend with. At various other stages she had blisters or other minor injuries which made it tough for her. There were numerous times when I declared that we really needed to “get a move on” or we would miss the bus/train/tide or get benighted. Each time Jill would find a little extra from somewhere and increase the pace and we nearly always reached our destination with a few minutes to spare.

There is always a danger that ending an epic adventure can become an anti-climax. We were very fortunate that Emily arranged to accompany us from the Scottish border to Berwick; we were overjoyed when Joe and his dog Frank appeared, having caught the early train from London and then walked north from Berwick to meet us just south of the Scottish border. It made for a wonderfully memorable finish to our walk.

People always want to know how far we walked. That is difficult to answer. We had three GPS devices in operation most of the time but we both changed our iPhones during the course of our walk. We used my stand-alone GPS device consistently for the entire walk but that occasionally failed. Despite the accuracy of GPS, our devices never recorded the same distances. Whilst some of that may be explained by us walking very slightly variations of the same paths (and the greater distance Jill would take to the ladies’ loos) it does not explain the 5%+ variation. I never really understood what caused the differences. For the most part I have recorded the minimum distance recorded and the total was 5299 miles but it could have been more than 5500. In short, the distance doesn’t really matter. There is no prescribed route and the distance walked will depend on tides, river crossings and if you included distances walked to access the coast as opposed to along the coast. It is a long way. As for height climbed that is a bit of a mystery because GPS devices are even less accurate for height. However, some days we climbed several thousand feet and on other days we would have been delighted to find an incline to relieve the flatness.

As to how long it takes that depends on how fast you walk, of course! We actually walk quite fast  and counting all the days on which we walked, even if we only walked half a dozen miles on the first day of a section to loosen up after the journey, we walked on 318 days and walked an average of just under 17 miles a day. On our full days’ walking, we averaged 17.5 miles per day.

As for our best and worst days it is probably unfair to judge. You cannot enjoy the good unless you endure the bad. We experienced everything on our walk and had a really great experience – and, yes, I would do it all again.

Our coastal journey – much more than a walk

I now know that walking round the coast of mainland Britain is something Cliff has wanted to do all his adult life. He explains, in his own reflection on our walk, how the idea first seeded itself back in 1971, the year before we first met. 

I only learned of Cliff’s ambition was as he approached retirement in 2013 and a patient lent him a book, “The Sea on our Left” by Shally Hunt. She and her husband walked 4300 miles around the coast over 10 months. Cliff wanted to do likewise; sell the house, put everything in storage and to set off the day after he retired. There were many reasons why this didn’t happen. 

Fast forward to 2019 and our circumstances had changed. By then, settled in Yorkshire, with both our children married and none of our parents still alive, Cliff felt this was the right time for him to try the walk. Many of the anxieties I experienced in 2006, when he disappeared to spend 6 weeks walking the GR10, resurfaced; not just the prospect of being without him for long periods (even if he split the walk into sections) but the feeling that I had no choice about it happening. It was obvious, however, that this was a project he needed to try and I couldn’t deny him that. 

It wasn’t until Christmas, after his first couple of trips and he had reached Saltburn by the Sea, that I knew I had to be involved. This was a huge experience that, if he continued on his own, would create a major separation in our lives together, not only in the time he would spend away walking and in the planning and preparation of each trip but also in the permanent loss of a shared experience which I would never really understand or appreciate by its retelling or from photographs. We discussed all the options – from me simply providing logistical support through to trying to do the walk with him. Given my recent knee op there were many uncertainties but we agreed that, when he resumed the walk in January 2020, I would start out with him and see how I coped. I was also determined that, as far as possible, I would try to stay positive; it was not fair to join him and then spoil his enjoyment. 

So why am I looking back now at my reasons for joining the walk? Well, because how I felt about it changed quite significantly from when I started out. At first it was very much “one day at a time”, never certain if I would want (or be able) to complete a day’s walk. Even on our previous long distance walks, we had rarely done the daily mileage scheduled for this. As the miles slipped by, my confidence and expectations grew and thoughts of dropping out part way through a day’s walk receded even when the terrain, the weather, the length of the walk (or my knee’s reaction to it) would have meant it was by far the easiest option. 

I also believe that Cliff’s enjoyment of the walk was greater for sharing all aspects of the experience with me. We had different strengths and weaknesses but gradually learned how we each reacted to the various challenges; I always knew when Cliff was getting concerned about something as his pace would quicken and I would get even further behind than usual. He meticulously planned each day’s walk; the route, the transport, the possible stopping places. I would cross-reference the proposed route with other blogs to learn of known problems such as locked gates, unscalable fences, impenetrable gorse, or missing footbridges. I cooked meals to take with us to AirBnBs and made sandwiches for each day’s walk. Two drivers made the logistics of getting round Scotland a lot simpler. Frequently one of us spotted something of interest such as a bird of prey or wild animal that the other would have missed. Cliff always opened and shut gates for me, we helped each other over barbed wire fences and occasionally I would spot a way forward or would continue when Cliff (often being cautious on my behalf) might have turned back. We forded rivers together, jumped streams, struggled up steep banks, clambered over rocks, left footprints in pristine snow, threaded our way along precipitous cliff paths, pounded along promenades, dodged campervans and strode along miles of sandy beaches. We got sunburnt, drenched, blown over and utterly exhausted. The walk challenged us in ways we had never anticipated but it offered rewards beyond anything we had experienced before. 

For a long time the walk remained too big a venture to think about its entirety; completing each trip was a goal in its own right. Gradually, however, the walk became much more than simply clocking up the miles; encounters with people, wildlife and places provided a deeper and more rewarding experience. We had some fascinating conversations with people we met – our hosts, ferrymen, shopkeepers, other walkers – tiny snapshots of other people’s lives and experiences. We had very few unpleasant encounters; the vast majority of folk were kind, helpful and generous.

In spring, the clifftops were covered in swathes of pink campion and bluebells, daffodils gave bright yellow splashes to contrast with the deep blue of the sea, pink cushions of sea thrift accentuated the contours of the rocks, and purple and spotted orchids brightened even the roadside verges. There were so many flowers that I had not seen before and had to look up, most remarkable of all being the tiny Scottish primrose which grows only within a mile of the coast of Sutherland and Caithness. The wildlife we saw, often in the remotest of places, felt very special; peregrines, golden eagles, sea eagles, gannets, dolphins, harbour porpoises, otters, deer, badgers, field mice, flocks of geese, even the myriad stranded jellyfish. Few encounters match the sheer delight of looking over a stone wall into the eyes of a very young fox cub who hesitated a moment longer than his siblings before disappearing into the clifftop scrub and whose face I now look at in the photo on our study wall. 

Remarkably quickly, I knew that if I were doing the walk, I needed do all of it. Cherry-picking the “best bits” to walk wouldn’t work, not least because the unpredictability and complexity of the walk meant that choosing the “best bits” could really only be done retrospectively. When people have asked us “What has been the best bit?”, they are usually referring to the scenery but that was only ever part of what made for a good day’s walk. 

Rocky cliffs teeming with nesting birds, the cacophony of sound, watching birds soaring or rapidly flapping their wings as they flew in search of food; such were the delights of the early spring in NE Scotland. Then, on our subsequent trip, the countless carcasses washed up along the shoreline; the guano-streaked but almost empty, silent cliffs; the solitary kittiwake or guillemot sitting dying on the beach – it is hard to recall the heart-rending tragedy wrought by avian flu. 

There were a few days that were nothing more than a tedious tramp along roads but even the days when the weather was severely against us brought their own rewards in meeting the challenges that the weather created. We have seen the sea flat and shimmering pale, silvery blue. We have watched waves lapping gently along a shingle shore with the magical sound of pebbles rolling over each other. We have watched white crests of huge waves crashing onto rocks under blue skies, and we have seen dirty brown breakers angrily churning the sea bed. 

For the most part, I tend to recall the encounters with people, the wildlife, particular incidents, the weather – all bound up with specific locations even though I may not remember where we started from that morning or even exactly where the place was on the map. There were some days, however, which were so wonderful that the whole day felt very special. Top of that list probably has to be Day 260 when we walked out from Mellon Charles round Greenstone Point to Gruinard Bay. The snow, sun, blue skies and spectacular distant views were enough to make it memorable. Add to that the heightened sense of adventure in finding our own way around a remote peninsula not included by many coast-walkers and doing so on a day when even sheep-trods were masked by snow, the complete sense of isolation and scarcely believing the majesty of all around us. But what will long remain vivid in our memory were the many otter tracks we crossed and especially the otter slides where they had obviously slid down the snowy inclines as gracefully as they would glide through the water. 

It was after we had strode along the promenade in Clacton in our walking gear amidst scantily clad beach-goers, I decided we needed something to show what we were doing and I made the “Just Coasting” tapestry panel to fix onto Cliff’s rucksack. After that, people occasionally stopped to ask us about the walk and where we had set out from. Berwick upon Tweed began to sound an impressively long way north. I then found a map of Great Britain to put onto an old pinboard at home so we could plot our progress and visualise the next section but it was impossible to have any clear concept of the entire route ahead; the distances too great, the terrain unknown and the logistics too difficult to work out – a bit like driving in fog with dipped headlamps. I had always looked forward to reaching Scotland and revisiting some wonderful places but its coastline was far more challenging than that of England or Wales and the lack of public transport, places to stay and proper paths meant we could really only think about it one section at a time. 

Many times I had been asked if I would continue south from Cliff’s finish at Berwick upon Tweed to complete my own coast walk at Saltburn by the Sea. At first I wasn’t sure it mattered very much but, as the line of our walk on my wall map crept further and further round the coast, I knew it was important for me to “join the dots”. By the time we reached Kyle of Lochalsh in October 2022, we both felt we were capable of completing the walk and that we would find a way of doing so, even though there were some daunting sections of coastline ahead of us. However, if we really were going to finish, then I wanted us to finish together. So, over the short winter days, when walking in northern Scotland was too restricted, Cliff accompanied me on the walk from Berwick to Saltburn so I completed my missing section. 

When we resumed our walk north from Kyle of Lochalsh in February 2023, we both knew we would reach Berwick upon Tweed. On September 9th we did just that.

Saturday 9th September 2023

Can this really be true? This is the last day of the longest walk of our lives. We should arrive back at Berwick early in the afternoon. It was quite a warm night last night and the prospects for today are that it will be the hottest September day on record at least for most of the UK. Staying in a posh hotel for our final night, we had the full works for breakfast and so we will not need to carry lunch today.

We drove to Berwick and met up with Emily, our daughter, who was determined to accompany us on the final few miles even though she will have to race back to London tonight to fly to Italy tomorrow. Emily drove us to Eyemouth and then returned to leave the car at Berwick and was then going to get a taxi so she could join us at the England/Scotland border.

The morning mist of the last few days was absent this morning and it was looking like we were in for a hot day like the rest of the country.

Emily walked with us to the end of the harbour and then returned to the car as we continued on our way. The map shows the Berwickshire Coast Path cutting up from part way along the harbour and across the golf course; why it does not go to the far end of the harbour and around the Nestends headland is a mystery. This was not the day on which to start taking shortcuts – whatever next? We walked to the end of the harbour and found a perfectly good path around the headland and along the seaward side of the golf course; it has warnings about golf balls and way markers for the Smugglers Path and another path I had not heard of. There are excellent views over the cliffs here and not to be missed.

The path along the cliff top was easy walking and follows the cliff edge quite faithfully providing great views on a very sunny day.

At Burnmouth, the last village in Scotland on the east coast, the path turns inland to follow the edge of a deep cleft in the cliff and then we walked down the road to the harbour. After a short walk beyond the harbour, the footpath disappears between two houses and ascends the cliff. It is easy to miss but there is a way marker – even so, Jill narrowly missed walking up someone’s garden path.

The path then continues alongside the main East Coast railway line and, beyond that, the A1. This section of path is perhaps slightly less interesting but we had our minds set on getting to the border and meeting up with Emily. Along the way we noted a good looking pair of walking boots forgotten or abandoned by the path; how does that happen?

Emily took a taxi to Marshall’s Meadows and walked up to the national boundary arriving in time to see us approaching from the north.

We passed through the “green channel” and were back in England at 11.35 and on an official right of way for the first time in ages. It was now very hot but we only had about five miles to go.

We were now walking as a three-some which was fun; the last time Emily walked with us was when we rounded Land’s End, thousands of miles ago. 

The path follows the cliff top and then takes a dive away from the edge for twenty yards or so before returning. There appeared to be a narrow path taking a short cut straight across but for no good reason I took the longer route which seemed a sensible option since a dog-walker coming towards us also took the detour. Then when I looked again the dog walker was not a local – it was our son, Joe, and his dog, Frank.

Joe and Frank had taken the first train up from London and walked up the path from Berwick to meet us. What a wonderful surprise; even Emily didn’t know that is what they were doing.

So now we were walking as a five-some; the first time the whole family had walked together on our coast walk. What more could we ask for? Well, a bench perhaps so we could have coffee together but Joe confirmed that there were none all the way until Berwick. So we walked on a little until we found a suitable place to stop. We settled down on the long grass and had some refreshments.

There was still plenty of good cliff scenery though caught up in conversation it slipped past very quickly.

We started to walk past Berwick Golf Club at Magdalene Fields and at Brotherstone Hole, the eighth hole, the tee shot goes right across Brotherstone Hole and the coast path but, of course, being in England, we had right of way. I realised this almost immediately and Joe, Emily and Frank were soon with me clear of the hole. Jill, who was trailing trying to get some photos, was oblivious to this. As Jill was trying to compose pictures, the Saturday morning golfers were waving their arms and shouting. We eventually managed to attract her attention and alert Jill to her predicament.

We moved on trying to keep up with Frank who was enjoying his day out.  The approach to Berwick is rather impaired by a large holiday park. On this occasion I will forgive its existence because, at Jill’s request, a couple sitting on the balcony of their caravan obligingly refilled her water bottle and brought out a bowl of water for Frank.

Joe had let Frank have a swim in one of the bays as they walked to meet us but that had merely whetted Frank’s appetite for more. The cliffs here were still very precipitous and so Frank was kept firmly on his lead. However, further on, when he was allowed off his lead, he stopped at the top of the steps leading to the beach at Dodd’s Well (I think) where he had swum this morning but was firmly told “No” because there was only a single access point. He seemed to accept this and continued exploring the cliff top. But when we arrived at the next beach at Fisherman’s Haven, Frank was nowhere to be found. We all thought he was walking with us but when we looked down he was standing in the sea looking up at the cliff top wondering why we were being so slow.

So we also descended the steps to the beach and walked along, throwing sticks into the sea for Frank. 

We continued around to the ramparts of the town wall where Frank decided that since the tide was out, he would continue on the shore beneath the wall but then realised we were a good eight feet up above him.

I had noted that at the far end there was a bit of a ramp he would be able to scramble up on to the grassy bank. I need not have worried because half way along was a stone breakwater from which he jumped the six feet onto sea wall unassisted. Now we had just a few hundred yards of the town walls to reach Berwick Old Bridge.

We were back at the Old Bridge of Berwick. Our walk was done.

Joe had presented us each with a commemorative mug and fittingly a coaster on which to stand it. Emily now presented us each with a commemorative medal she had had made for us. The engraving read:

WALKED THE 
COAST OF BRITAIN
Finished
9th September 2023

It was wonderful having both Emily and Joe with us as we finished our walk; it made it feel very special indeed and we could not have wished for a happier ending.

Throughout our walk, Jill has kept a record of our progress on a map which has made it easier to appreciate just how far we had walked and the geography of the coast ahead. Pins marked the start and finish of each section and were linked to a label giving the place names, the dates and the miles covered in that section and the overall total. At last she could join up the dots; our journey was complete.

Friday 8th September 2023

We are moving base for our last night. The flat in Dunbar is not good and I would rather we remember our walk’s final night by staying in a decent hotel and so I managed to get a room at the Chirnside Hall Hotel.

Having left a car at Eyemouth last night, we had a short drive to Pease Bay to start our walk. The weather forecast was for cloud all day and temperatures of 16°-17º  whilst the rest of the UK would be roasting in 30°. As we started out, we could see there was a thick sea mist rolling slowly in but we climbed steeply up from Pease Bay to the cliff tops in what was already very hot sunshine. There were wooden steps to help the ascent.

From Pease Bay we walked around Pealand Banks and then along a quarry road before heading along a minor road to Redheughs Farm. Then we were going across farmland. We were on an official Long Distance Path; the Berwickshire Coast Path and it is well-marked and the gates and stiles all function and are maintained. The heavy dew and long grass inevitably meant that our legs got very wet.

Eventually we came close to Dowlaws Road; the path runs almost parallel with it but at a respectful distance.

I may have missed a marker because we found ourselves on an obvious path but going through thicker and thicker bracken and so we got wetter and wetter.

Our route eventually turned up to join the road and the official route but staying nearer the clifftops had given us better views even if a lot wetter legs than had we been on the road. There were some magnificent fungi in one of the fields we crossed.

We had a couple more miles of farmland until we got to the cliff edge at once more at Lumsdaine Shore.

The walking got more interesting and we were in and out of the mist according to our altitude and the vagaries of the mist. Fortunately the path was fairly obvious as sometimes Jill couldn’t really see me at all.

At Westerside Dean we descended to a bridge and crossed the water course and climbed up the other side and really saw nothing of the cliffs forming the dean.

We could not see much ahead of us but occasionally we had a misty glimpse of what we knew must be St Abb’s Head. We feared we might not see very much at all but then some mist lifted off and we could see the entire Head for a while. We found a grassy bank and stopped for coffee looking out over a sea of fog.

As we descended, we passed an Admiralty Mile Marker but the others had been lost in the mist.

All of St Abb’s Head was laid out before us as we descended to Pettico Wick. Here we dutifully followed the road because erosion from the high footfall has become a problem and signs request walkers to do so.  There are excellent cliffs and stacks around St Abb’s Head and we counted ourselves as very fortunate that so much of the misted cleared whilst we were there. The lighthouse is a dumpy little thing but of course it stands on a cliff top and does not need to be tall. 

We found a bank to sit on for our lunch. It seemed odd to us that such a popular venue with visitors appears to be totally devoid of benches.

After lunch were walking south again but the sea fog began swirling in again and so we saw nothing very much until we came to St Abb’s village where we walked past the harbour and then up onto the cliff tops on the south side of the village. Somehow we went through St Abb’s without taking a single photograph.

We could not see down to the beach at Coldingham Bay but further along the path dropped down to the beach and crossed Milltown Burn on a substantial wooden bridge. We could see a little further along the coast. There were sets of steps up and down and in and out of the mist. 

As we approached Eyemouth, the view is spoiled entirely by a large cliff-top static caravan park. We walked around the caravans and then took the path down to the beach. Our only proper, if short, beach walk of the day took us to the harbour which is a linear affair along the side of Eye Water.

Despite the fog out to sea it had been a hot day and so we called in for ice-creams. Then we retrieved the cars and went to our hotel. We can hardly believe it that tomorrow will be our final day of the entire walk.

Thursday 7th September 2023

Today most of the UK was forecast to be roasting under 30 degree temperatures. Here, by contrast, we awoke to a blanket of damp mist or fog. It was not cold but it was certainly not hot.

We drove to Cove and left a car there and then returned to Tyninghame Beach to resume walking. We had to start the day with a three mile inland walk to cross the River Tyne via the A198 road bridge. There is a footbridge in the Tyninghame Estate but there has been concern expressed about its safety and whether the gate on the bridge is actually unlocked at all times. We had tried asking in the village yesterday after we finished the walk but had no success. We decided not to risk it because it would be frustrating and a lot of wasted energy if the river could not be crossed. Also given the poor visibility we would not see much whichever route we chose.

Walking along the A198 we were joined once more by the John Muir Way which finishes at Dunbar. We followed a track back to the sea shore, all rather shrouded in fog. We pretty much stayed with the JMW though there is an option to cross the Belhaven Footbridge. This footbridge is marked on OS maps as a tiny pair of parallel lines but lacks the FB abbreviation we have come to expect. It was still quite early and high tide had only shortly passed and according to the map the Belhaven footbridge is actually in the bay in the intertidal zone and I had no way of knowing if the tide would be out far enough. As we came to Dunbar we could the see the bridge quite easily because it is close to the Dunbar shoreline. It looks odd because it crosses Biel Water and the far side of the bridge is just on a sand bar that disappeared into the fog. A few dog walkers and other locals were using it and I suspect it is only unusable at times of a very high tide. We agreed that the dense fog meant we had not missed much by sticking to the road.

We stopped at a refreshment caravan by the bridge and had some very good coffee and savoury crêpes. The path then follows the coast around a golf course where there were frequent signs reminding us that, since the 2003 Land Reform Act, walkers must give way to golfers; the exact opposite of what applies in England.

The path faithfully follows the cliffs around Dunbar passing the harbour as we went.

On the east side we were walking around Dunbar golf course which also had signs warning of our obligation to give way to golfers. We got onto the shore when it was possible at White Sands and were amused by this dog who must be the only dog we have seen who does not like to have a run on the beach.

We walked on to Barnes Ness lighthouse. It looked splendid emerging from the mist and a few minutes later the mist was all gone. This was established in 1901, the year before the Bass Rock lighthouse and its engineer was again David Stevenson. It was automated in 1986.

We continued along the shoreside path because the beach itself was rather stony. Our next target was Torness Nuclear Power station. As we walked, I noticed that someone has been perching stones on the top of all the fence posts. Perhaps it was a diversion for a dog walker whilst their dog played on the beach but it carried on all the way to the car park near Torness.

When we got a good view of the power station we sent our final “Name that power station?” picture to Emily.

I was uncertain if we could walk on the seaward side of it. Most nuclear power stations we have passed have very restricted access so I was surprised to a see a good path heading towards it.

We stopped for lunch by some limekilns and there was an information board showing a path looping around the power station. Oddly, when I looked at the old OS mapping on my Satmap GPS, not only was there a path around the power station but there was the dotted green line and diamonds indicating a long distance path. When I looked at the maps on our mobile phones, which are a more recent OS version, the path is no longer marked! Quite recently the OS were asking for what additional features might be included on their future maps – perhaps they should start by putting back some of the paths they have missed out on their current ones. For the avoidance of doubt, the John Muir Way actually ends at Dunbar but this link path connects the JMW to the Southern Upland way at Cockburnspath.

Curiously, not only does the nuclear power station have a path, it seems to positively welcome walkers; it even had two paths, a higher and a lower path. On the far side of the power station is huge breakwater, presumably constructed when the power station was being built. The breakwater is protected by concrete “jacks” which we have not seen since somewhere in the south west of Wales.

The day was still pleasantly cool and, though the sea mist had largely gone, we still had cloud cover which kept the temperature down. After a short beach walk, the path ascends the low cliffs to an easy, if steepish, grassy path.

We followed the path to The Linn where a burns tumbles down to the sea.

The path also turns down to the beach where a slightly difficult ¼ mile of stony beach brought us to a path up towards Coburnspath and then to Cove where we had left the car.

In 1881 a storm blew in and 189 fishermen from the south-east coast lost their lives; 11 were from Cove out of a community 21 fishermen. Eyemouth lost 120 men that day which became known as “Black Friday”. Similar memorials are to be found in other villages on the south-east coast. Each bereaved widow and child is depicted on the memorial. The Eyemouth memorial is five metres long.

We had walked well aided by the cool day and it was still only 15.45 and so we drove back to retrieve the other car we then walked an extra 1¾ miles to Pease Bay before driving a car to Eyemouth so it is set up for tomorrow’s walk.

Pease Bay has little to recommend it except to those who visit the extensive holiday park comprising almost totally of static caravans. I recall that, back in 2004, Dave and I felt it was a rather disappointing place for the Southern Upland Way to greet the coast. The SUW actually ends in at the stone cross in the centre of Cockburnspath but I sent Dave a photo of the finger post all the same.

Tomorrow would have been 16.5 miles along a fairly arduous cliff top route. We have now reduced that to about 14 ½ miles and we have already got a car at the end of the walk and so, even if it is very hot tomorrow as forecast, we should be able cope with it.

Wednesday 6th September 2023

The weather forecasters are predicting the hottest day of the year over most of the UK – and we are in September. Fortunately the north-east is due to be cooled by some early mist and breezes off the North Sea. We awoke to a misty sky but even by 7am when I went to get today’s paper, I was comfortable in shirt sleeves.

We had a quick set up; leaving one car at Tyninghame Beach car park (£2.50 by card) and driving back to the nature reserve at Aberlady. We were surprised by the number of cars there at 8.30 am. Jill suggested it was dog walkers but dogs are not allowed in the reserve. We crossed the long, wooden bridge which has some alarmingly worn and springy slats as well as a few new ones replacing slats that had presumably broken or deemed unsafe. There were also quite a few new blue ones bearing the messages “nature reserve” and “no dogs please”.

Once over we followed the Nature reserve path through the dunes where there were occasional direction markers. The map shows a path closer the the shore but there seemed to be no evidence of it any longer. The dunes extend much further than when OS lasted surveyed the area because though we were still in deep marram grass the satmap thought we were well out on the sand banks of the intertidal zone.

When we did get to Gullane Sands there was a wide sandy beach with some campers up by the dunes edge and a number of walkers.

At the north end of the bay, we clambered up onto the dunes and followed a good path around the edge of the golf course until we came to the car park for Gullane Bents. Then we went back down onto the beach and followed it to the far end before reverting to walking in the dunes when the beach became too rocky.

We walked to the far end of Gullane Bay and came across an elderly gentleman and his two dogs with a bag and litter-picker in hand (the man, not the dogs – obviously). We always admire those devoted souls who collect up plastic waste from our beaches; it is a never-ending task. I thanked him for his efforts and he asked after our walk and when we explained what we were doing, he asked whether we were walking right round all the sea-lochs. He said his daughter and her friend had walked round the coast a few years ago but had cajoled local boat owners into ferrying them across whenever possible – but when he asked how far we had walked and compared the distance with hers, we realised she had “only” walked around the Scottish coast. He congratulated us and wished us well for the completion of our journey.

At Hanging Rocks a wooden ramp facilitates getting off the beach. A couple just appeared coming down the ramp, we got into conversation and they offered to take our photograph.

The path took us through the dunes past a row of huge, new houses each to a different design.

This brought us to Broad Sands, a wide, sandy beach. The sky was still a bit overcast even though it was not far short of noon and the gentle breeze meant it was still a very comfortable temperature.

Fidra is a small island divided by a tidal isthmus. It is a nesting site for puffins and numbers are increasing since the removal of Tree Mallow which was blocking the puffin burrows. The plant may have been introduced by the lighthouse keepers.

As we approached North Berwick, the conical hill, North Berwick Law which stands over the town comes into view.

We walked past the North Berwick Lifeboat Station which brought back memories of our last visit to the town in 1990, just before our son, Joe, started primary school. We were staying with Jill’s brother, Andy, who lived in Edinburgh at the time and had come to see North Berwick where there was a Lifeboat and Air-Sea Rescue helicopter demonstration going on.

North Berwick was busy and we decided not to search out a café but found a suitable bench where we could eat our sandwiches. From North Berwick, a short beach walk took us to Rugged Knowes and yet another golf course. There is no path marked on the map but, on the ground, an easy path follows the coast – sometimes on the beach and sometimes just beside it. Various paths mean that it would be walkable whatever the state of the tide.

The Bass Rock lighthouse was established in 1902, the engineer being David Stevenson, the grandson of Robert Stevenson who built to Bell Rock lighthouse. The Bass Rock lighthouse was automated in 1988 but was visited in the 1970s by Keith Allardyce (At Scotland’s Edge) when it still had resident lighthouse keepers. One of them, Kenny Weir, told Keith, “This is my third paraffin-lamp station, I prefer the oil lamps; you can care for them, and you can repair them yourself. You don’t know what you’re doing with the electrical systems fitted in some towers. Yes, you have to carry paraffin up the tower here every day and pump the stuff during the night, and you can smell it too, but you don’t care. You can’t smell much out here after a while anyway, except the gannets”

At Canty Bay the path ascends the cliff steeply to the Drift café which was doing a roaring trade but was much too short-staffed to be worth us waiting. We continued along the road, past Tantallon Castle which we know is enclosed by fences, charges admission and is not amenable to being walked through.

We continued along the road to Auldhame where a private road leads to the beach. At the carpark, the road ends. There is a track which goes past Seacliffe but we decided to cross some fields instead. The beach, though sandy soon becomes rocky. We crossed a field which had some cows and calves but no bull as the sign claimed.

On leaving the field, we came to a fine stone wall and a track which took us to Scoughhill where we got onto the sand. We then walked the entire length of Peffer Sands and Ravensheugh until we had to leave the beach at Links wood to reach the Tyninghame Beach car park. The Links wood is very overgrown and has many fallen trees. It is definitely best to stick to the well-defined route off the beach.

Tuesday 5th September 2023

At risk of sounding repetitive, we awoke yet again to clear blue skies and an early morning haze. Today we are moving our base to Dunbar and so we made an early start; even with having to pack up, we managed to be away by 7.30. We have decided to take both cars to Aberlady where we will be finishing and then we have a taxi booked to take us back into Leith where we finished yesterday. Jill was concerned we might not find on-street parking for both cars close to the arranged pickup point and found there is a small car park just beyond Aberlady for the Local Nature Reserve so we will leave her car there then just drive mine into the centre of the village. The morning taxi will save us driving in and out of Edinburgh in the evening rush hour. The traffic in the morning around Edinburgh was awful and I thought we might not make it in time for the taxi. As it happened we drove up at 9.00 and the taxi pulled in immediately behind us.

We were dropped off in Leith at 9.40. The entire of Leith docks seems to be undergoing redevelopment and it is just one huge building site. It is very noisy and the traffic on Baltic Street was also oppressive. We just got on and walked until we reached the sands of Portobello Beach. It is at least a beach even if it is not very exciting we strode along the damp sand until  the beach comes to an end at Joppa.

We then followed the tarmac for about a mile until we reached Musselburgh beach which is much more expansive than Portobello beach. At the east end of Musselburgh beach, the river Esk (one of many) flows into the sea and we took the short walk to the footbridge.

Nearly all the trees have been dressed with white “ribbons”. It seems that proposal for flood defences was going to result in the loss of a large number of trees along the Esk. Local protesters have dressed the trees to symbolise the potential loss of trees proposed by the flood defences plan. The council have called upon the tree dressers to remove the dressings which the council claim may cause harm to the trees (though presumably not as much as being cut down).

Jill stopped to take photos of the swans feeding at the weir near the estuary and a couple of local ladies sitting on a nearby bench told us that there used to be a lot more swans on the river further upstream but their numbers had reduced dramatically and they were now coming much further downstream in search of food.

The River Esk fans out as it enters the sea and think it could be forded but such efforts would only be rewarded by the concrete sea wall which runs for about a mile and could be difficult/impossible to scale.

The next village is Prestonpans which is so-called because it used to have salt-pans for producing salt.  There is a concrete sea wall all the way along Prestonpans and except at high tide this can be walked along. It is quite slippery because twice a day it is submerged so there is a lot of slime and seaweed.

Cockenzie and Port Seton soon follow and we had our lunch overlooking the harbour. Things then became more interesting we got onto the beach at Seton Sands and walked the wet sand past Longniddry. After Ferney Head, the wide sweep of Gosford Sands is laid out before you.

It is actually quite rocky and so we followed the shore-line path past the impressive entrance to Gosford House though we could see nothing of the house itself.

We wondered about walking the intertidal zone to Green Craig but in the end we settled for the easier road through the woods to Green Craig and the golf courses.

Green Craig Bay though small is delightful being a perfect arc of sand with contours of shells which reminded us of the machair  beaches of the Hebrides.

We continued around the edge of the  the golf courses until we reached Aberlady. After a pause on a bench for our piece of cake, we walked around the saltmarsh which had a large number of geese grazing and this brought us to the car at the Aberlady Nature Reserve.

Monday 4th September 2023

Another bright, clear day dawned. We left the car at Inverkeithing in the same car park as yesterday which is not far from the railway station and started walking. The route went through the town. Inverkeithing a a miserable, drab place even on a sunny morning. None of the wealth of Dalgety Bay has rubbed off on the town. It has a mixture of rundown and closed shops and hardly anywhere one could eat out.

I am still bemused as to how the total ascent today recorded as 2033 feet because my recollection is that it was pretty flat with the exception for the Forth Road Bridge. I have checked and the road deck is only 150 feet above the mean water level. Oddly both our iPhone GPS apps are pretty much in agreement.

The path left the town and went through a rather unpleasant industrial area where recycled metal was processed. After West Point, things improved with views over the Firth of Forth and the attractive sandy beach at Port Laing before coming to North Queensferry. This is where the former Queen’s Ferry ran but was discontinued after the road bridge was opened in 1964. The main feature now is the superb Forth Rail Bridge which was resplendent in the morning sun.

After passing beneath the rail bridge, we followed the road around to the steps to the Forth Road Bridge. A notice on the stairway requested pedestrians and cyclists to use the west walkway and so I duly ascended that side of the bridge to find workmen installing gutters to make it easier for cyclists to push their bikes up. I explained that I was just following the instructions on the wall. A workmen let out an expletive and explained that the sign had an overlay sign switching use to the eastern side. However, he told us, the local kids amuse themselves by unbolting the overlay sign and discarding it so everyone went up the wrong side. The workman then had to search the banks around the bridge to find the discarded sign and a couple of them followed me down to look for it.

Once on the correct Eastern cycleway, the walk across was very simple. The bridge is now closed to general traffic permanently and all traffic uses the Queensferry Crossing motorway bridge opened in 2017.  The old bridge is retained solely for local public transport i.e buses and taxis and, of course, cyclists and walkers. The annual maintenance bill stands at in excess of £11m. It did seem to us very short-sighted to have to maintain the suspension bridge for such a limited amount of use. Obviously the bridge was designed in the 1950s before anyone had thought of the juggernauts that dominate out transport system, back in the 1950s there was a functioning railway network. The website says “A large capital programme to strengthen the bridge to take these increased loads is continuing.” Perhaps it will be reopened to more vehicles sometime in the future but there was no evidence of any significant work.

The bridge has a deserted feeling. Only two or three cyclists passed us. When the occasional bus went over the bridge we were surprised by the bounce produced by a single vehicle.

Once over the bridge, we took the road almost back on our tracks as it snakes under the bridge to reach the John Muir Way which would be our companion for the next six miles or so.

We passed through South Queensferry which is a more attractive village than its northern counterpart. It still has a pier from which sightseeing cruises depart but, more importantly, cruise liners moor off-shore and disgorge their passengers by tenders to the jetty at South Queensferry. A series of buses and taxis await them to take them into Edinburgh. Today there was even a piper there to preserve the myth of what is normal Scottish life.

Just by the pillars supporting the rail-bridge is the Honey Pot Creative Café where those who have booked may participate in painting and pottery activities whilst others, such as us, avail themselves of the coffee shop for excellent coffee and cake. 

From our coffee stop we continued along the John Muir Way which follows the side of the Firth of Forth past the petite Barnbougle Castle, now an “Events” venue.

Then we passed Dalmeny House, a more modern and grander affair which appears to be undergoing restoration.

The John Muir Way turns inland before it reaches the River Almond but I was just hoping we could wade across the river since we were right on low tide. Until relatively recently there was a simple rowing boat ferry across the River Almond to Cramond; my friend, Dave, said he and his wife once used it.

In short, when we got to the river it might have been wadeable by the old ferry crossing but the water was too murky to see the bottom.

Further towards the sea is what you might call a weir where the water tumbles over some stones and is clearly very shallow. Two posts mark the location presumably for the benefit of boats. For us the main issue would have been getting across the very muddy foreshore to this potential crossing point.

We decided against it and retraced out steps and then walked up to the old Cramond toll bridge. This is just before the main road bridge over the River Almond.

At this point the John Muir Way goes on a mystery tour of Edinburgh. We followed the walk down the other side of the R. Almond. It is genuinely very nice and popular with the local population. It was shady the whole way and the river, though quite small, tumbles over rapids and a weir. At one point the path climbs some scaffolding steps which would be pretty much impossible with a push chair and cyclists really struggled to get bikes up or down. I think the steps bypass what had become an unsafe route for general use.

We then came past the pretty village of Cramond to reach the sea where the causeway crosses to Cramond Island. There were lots of people walking across to the island and lots of people out on the sands.

We stopped at one of the many benches and had our sandwiches, more or less in the shade. Conveniently there was also an ice cream van and so we managed an ice cream each as well.

We were now truly back on tarmac. There is a very wide, tarmac promenade from Cramond through Silverknowes all the way to Granton where it joins the minor road which is quite busy. There is a pavement but it is so overgrown that it is hardly useable. 

It was a very hot afternoon and the heat was radiating from the tarmac and all the buildings. We were heading along the road that used to service all the harbour facilities that were once here. Now the old harbour area is being redeveloped with lots of apartment blocks, cafés, bars and shops.

I walked along the path in the sunshine but Jill, who had not brought her sunhat this trip (the heatwave wasn’t forecast when we left home), was keeping to the pavement in the shade of the buildings on the other side of the road. when our paths rejoined she said she really felt she needed a break for a drink. The first precinct offered fish and chips, pizzas or a Brewer’s Fayre none of which held any appeal but just beyond the tram stop Jill suddenly decided to cross the road as she’d spotted a tearoom called The Haven. It was welcoming, cool and comfortable and we enjoyed a proper pot of tea and a good rest out of the sun. The Edinburgh tram extension to Newhaven opened just three months ago and originally I had planned to get a tram from Newhaven but in the end, fortified by our pot of tea, we pushed on and crossed the Water of Leith to Baltic Street. We caught the tram to Haymarket and then a train back to Inverkeithing and the car.

Saturday 2nd September 2023

This is the start of our final walking session. All being well, next Saturday we will walk into Berwick upon Tweed.

We left Cumbria soon after 7.45 and got to Dysart Harbour before 11am where we dropped off one car then drove on to Lower Largo and parked in the Temple car park where we had finished our previous session. It was a clear, warm September morning. The village was quite busy with the holiday makers making the most of the last holiday weekend, though Scottish schools are already in session.

We got onto the beach almost immediately; the tide was fully out so we had an easy walk to the harbour. We had to come up to the road there to cross the bridge but thereafter we were back on the damp sand until Leven, three miles into the walk.

The next couple of miles was on tarmac, skirting around the docks and the Energy Park. The official Fife coast path follows the main road through Buckhaven but we took the first turning in the direction of the sea and were rewarded by a pleasant path around a housing estate along the edge of the Firth of Forth. There were even some benches and so we stopped for lunch and enjoyed the view out to the sea and the excellent information board about Buckhaven. We were almost too warm, sitting in the sun.

After lunch we continued along the path which appeared to stop at a collection of shacks. There must have been twenty or thirty rather dilapidated structures which seemed to be a mixture of workshops, boathouses and storage facilities. A man was sitting enjoying the sun and responded to our enquires with directions through the maze of buildings.

There is a gap between the white and the black old lorry bodies (near right in the photo) which gives access to a meadow beyond and a path which leads up the brae to join the official coast path. The path then took an elevated course until it reaches the large cemetery at East Wemyss. Here the path drops down to MacDuff’s Castle and then to a shore-side path.

There are three caves  along this section known as the Wemyss Caves. They have Pictish carving on their walls but have had many uses down the centuries; Jonathon’s Cave which we did not pass, the Doo Cave and finally Court Cave. These are sandstone caves but with really very thin roofs which has necessitated having brick pillars constructed to help preserve them. Signs advise that you “Enter at your own risk”.

West Wemyss has some interesting buildings, they look as if they are part of an estate village once upon a time but possibly their appearance has more to do with extensive restoration work in the village in recent decades.

We walked through West Wemyss and shortly afterwards there were diversion signs for the path but others were continuing along the water’s edge so I asked a couple who told us that the diversion was only operational when work on repairing the coast route was in progress. We followed the slightly eroded path but could see very little evidence of any recent work having taken place.

From here it was just a short walk into Dysart and the harbour car park.

Sunday 3rd September 2023

It was another bright clear morning. We left one car at a carpark near the station in Inverkeithing only five minutes away from where we are staying and then drove to Dysart Harbour to start walking. The small harbour at Dysart is very attractive with an inner and out harbour squeezed in against a rock face.

At the end of the harbour there is a set of steps which I think went up to a terrace above the harbour but this route is obviously now unsafe. The old tunnel was apparently dug so that ballast could be move through the headland.

We then walked around Ravenscraig Park which was very pleasant in the shade even though it was not yet 9am. This brought us to Pathhead Sands where we got onto the beach amongst the the dog-walkers and followed the beach almost to the harbour wall where we turned inland along a good track to bring us through the Carrs mills and the dock area.

Once we were past the docks there is a long promenade at Kirkcaldy which has been marked for a mile’s run. We took to the beach and walked the length of the beach to beyond the Morrison’s Store. At the far end of the beach hidden from view are some concrete steps back up to the official coast path.

The path then follows along above the rocky shoreline on a good gravel path until Kinghorm where tarmac took over. We walked through the village and on to Pettycur where we followed the road around to the bay.

After our coffee and reunion we continued along the high tide route until we could get back to the promenade at Burntisland.

We followed around the tip of the promontory before turning in through the west end of the town and onto a tarmac path that runs close to the railway line until Silversands Bay. This bay is extremely popular; the beach was packed with people enjoying the sunshine having barbecues and swimming. We had not seen such a packed beach since we were at Bournemouth three years ago before the second Covid lock-down.

We decided not to join them but headed on to Hawkcraig point where there were a couple of benches and a good cooling breeze. We settled in for a leisurely lunch looking out over the Firth of Forth and Edinburgh on the far side.

After lunch we walked up through Abedour to what I though was to be a track running alongside the golf course. In fact it is a a full width tarmac road but with no cars. I had wondered about walking through the golf course and getting to the “track” at the far side of Primrose Wood. I think this would be possible. The track we were on passes under the road to the oil terminal and continues all the way to Dalgety Bay. There is in fact a path which leaves the track and goes to the Braefoot Plantation and then there is a track a bit closer to the shore along to Dalgety Bay. Unfortunately we did not realise that that was a possibility, never mind; perhaps next time…

Just where we came to the sea again is the Bridget’s Kirk

Dalgety bay is both the name of the watery bay and also the large area of smart housing alongside. The route here is again entirely tarmac. The entire area was previously the Donibristle Estate. There have been three or four generations of Donibristle House finally becoming RNAS Donibrstle (HMS Merlin) during WWII. This seemed a little special only because of the famous poem “The Train to Glasgow” by Wilma Horsburgh. Reading it to our children was when we first learned that the place existed. “Here is the guard from Donibristle/who waved his flag and blew his whistle”. One wonders if the poem is so located because there was no other place to rhyme with whistle.

Since those times the whole of Dalgety Bay has been developed as a modern village and is where we are staying. It is really a very pleasant place to live though there are no restaurants or shops nearby.

The walk is quite pleasant considering it was tarmac. We could have called in at the flat where we are staying since it was only 200 yards off route but with less than two miles to go we decided to press on to the end. It was just more tarmac bashing. We did have nice views of the three bridges over the firth of Forth and curiously they appeared to line up so that it looked as if they were in a straight line one leading to the next.