Day 259: Montrose to Stonehaven

I’m back on the East Coast of Scotland, avoiding the West Coast midges, leaving the tent at home, as there are too many populated areas along the Aberdeenshire coast from Montrose round to Buckie on the Moray Firth. It’s been a longer break than normal due to Max sitting his A-Levels, the last of my children at school. Jude and I celebrated the end of school runs.

The journey yesterday was fraught with delays, train cancellations and a “snapped rail” north of Aberdeen, but I eventually made it to the Aberdeen Travelodge, my base for the next five nights.

Today is my longest day, at 29 miles, including sections without a footpath, so it’s a 5 am rise to catch the first train to Montrose. The station is deserted.

Falling asleep, I’m woken by the ticket collector. If I’m not careful I’ll be back in Aberdeen.

The initial path is tricky, winding through a labyrinth of harbour buildings and warehouses, gulls “kee-owing” overhead.

Bamse, a St. Bernard attached to a Norwegian WW2 minesweeper stationed at Montrose, rounded up his shipmates before curfew. Wearing a pass on his collar, he rode the bus unaccompanied and alighted near his crew’s favourite pub to fetch them back. I could do with his help to guide me through this maze to the beach.

His grave is well tended if a little bleak.

The long sandy beach is interrupted by the River North Esk. It’s low tide, so I try to cross to avoid a long detour inland. The water is only knee deep and nothing like the painful icy waters of Iceland but, nearing the far bank, the waves rise to my waist. The current is weak and I have my poles, so I wade through to the shallows. Unfortunately, it’s too late to sort out the contents of my pockets. My phone is soaked. That was fun, if foolish.

I walk barefoot over the sand and in the sea for a couple of miles to the end of the beach. What a gorgeous morning and a stunning setting. Scotland is kind again.

There are plenty of rock pools to wash the sand away. I did not bring a towel but my feet dry quickly in the sun and breeze. I’m joined by four women, exploring the rocks after their wild swim.

A short scramble leads to a tranquil spot at the base of a waterfall. Progress further north requires rock climbing, so I return to the path up the hillside.

The public path heads inland. A fellow coastal walker, Jon Combe, walked along an overgrown path near the cliff edge, although it was 10 years ago, so I’m keen to try it despite a sign saying the path is closed and dangerous. The grass is waist-high. It’s a hot day and I’m wearing shorts. The grass soon becomes chest-high and mixed with nettles. Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!

It’s worth it for the fabulous view back down the beach.

Is it possible to be stung twice in the same spot? I’ll remember to pack trousers next time.

There’s only one tight section before Rock Hall, with barbed wire on the left and a steep drop to the right, but it’s not too bad.

The path drops down to a rocky beach at Tangleha’ Cottages, before a gentle grassy path to Johnshaven, where I buy a bacon roll, coffee and delicious raspberry and white chocolate cheesecake from the busy Hidden Treasure Cafe and sit outside on a bench overlooking the harbour. This is the life!

A flat cycle track runs through Gourdon to Inverbevie, followed by an unavoidable short stretch on the A92 and a long minor road into Catterline village, where the barman at the Creel Inn kindly refills my depleted water bottle. It seems rude not to buy a beer, although I still have seven miles of clifftop walking ahead.

It takes me a little while to find the right track out of the village, directly at the rear of the pub, pushing through another badly overgrown section with more stinging nettles, before ending up on rough field margins. There is no path.

There are fine views back to Todhead Lighthouse.

Forced to follow the jagged field boundaries, I feel like an ant in the coastline paradox — the smaller the unit of measurement, the longer the coastline. It’s a relief to reach Crawton and the excellent RSPB path. This is a stunning section with towering cliffs and stacks, although sadly mainly in shadow, as it’s now around 6 pm.

There are notices of puffins ahead. My pace quickens.

I hear the noise first — thousands of cries. A vast cave appears, birds flying in and out of the entrance. Breathtaking.

The cliffs are packed with more than 115,000 breeding seabirds: guillemots, razorbills and kittiwakes.

Using my binoculars, I see my first puffin, sitting outside a small cave entrance. It’s so tiny. Two more fly down from a ledge.

Reluctantly leaving the puffins behind, the reserve path ends and the nettles begin again, so I bail to the main road at Craiglethy, walking down to the magnificent Dunnottar Castle, perched 160 feet above the sea on an impregnable rocky outcrop.

A well-maintained path leads from the castle into town, with beautiful views in the late evening sun.

Despite being weary, I can’t resist one final diversion up Black Hill to the war memorial, modelled on a ruined Greek temple, signifying all the lives cut short.

Stonehaven harbour is finally sighted. Like many coastal towns, it was originally a fishing community, before overfishing led to a decline and reliance on tourism and marine services. How will the latter be affected by running down oil and gas fields and switching to wind farms? Is tourism the last resort of all the remote coastal villages and towns in Britain?

A wonderful day. Now I must stay awake on the train back to Aberdeen.

Date of walk: Saturday 22 June 2024.

Walk distance: 29 miles.

Total distance: 4,337 miles.