Fly fishermen are spread across the River Ythan. I’ve never seen the attraction. There’s a daily limit of two sea trout, and salmon must be returned to the water.
The Forvie Nature Reserve is closed between April and August to protect nesting terns and the seal haul-out, so I cut across the headland, passing a budget backpacker’s hostel.
My left shin is sore again but seems to ease as the path switches from the hard road to the soft dunes. Perhaps my normal boots provide more cushion than these walking shoes.
The haar clings to Hackley Bay.
There’s a lovely clifftop path to Collieston, with unobtrusive nature trail information boards improving my flower identification skills — yellow-rattle is a new one.
I struggle to find the coast path out of the village. An elderly man says the only route is to climb the rocks next to the harbour wall. Scrambling to the top, this is utter rubbish, as a narrow path winds up in front of the houses. It’s not the first time a local was precious about me hiking on a public footpath past their home — the old scrote.
A sign in the next cove promotes the “Collieston to Cruden Bay Coastal Path” — whose coves and sea caves lent themselves to smuggling in the 18th century — with a colourful quote from a Customs collector, describing the locals as “a turbulent riotous pilfering set”.
The path looks promising, offering well-positioned, poetic benches to enjoy the magnificent rock formations and sea stacks.
Fine advice
I'd take a pew
But this damn haar
Obscures the view
The path abruptly vanishes into wet grass, weeds and nettles. My feet are soon soaked.
To advertise this as a path is an offence under the Trade Descriptions Act. Hidden beneath the undergrowth, it hugs the edge of steep slippery slopes and plummets straight down valleys. I’ve seen better sheep tracks, apart from the occasional bridge, some less helpful than others.
It’s tough going, and I can’t even find a clear spot to sit and have lunch. Not one for anyone worried about heights. Approaching Bruce’s Haven, there’s barely room to walk between the barbed wire fence and a wet slope with a sheer drop. This can’t be the right way.
Sure enough, I’ve missed a stile, clambering over to the safe side of the fence and a welcome flash of colour.
It’s a relief to reach the open path at Whinnyfold. The mist lifts slightly as I descend to easier beach walking.
Cruden Bay is a pretty village with a handy shop for a well-earned Magnum ice cream.
There’s a gentle climb out of the village, with fine views down to the sea.
New Slains Castle looms out of the sea fret — the inspiration for Bram Stoker’s Castle Dracula. Vampires. Mist. Dusk. Should I be worried?
The castle is amazing. A turret staircase winds up three floors and simply ends in space. Doorways open to sheer drops. How can this place still exist in these nannying times of the health and safety police? I love it.
Switching on my head torch, the dark cellar reveals no coffins.
Did the temperature just drop?
Fleeing the castle, I take the main road rather than the coast route, as I can’t see anything beyond the cliff edge anyway, and I’m worried about catching the last bus to Fraserburgh, where I’m staying tonight.
I leave the road for Bullers of Buchan, a gigantic collapsed sea cave, home to a colony of puffins, kittiwakes, guillemots and razorbills. What a sight. A few people are hidden in the mist above the sea arch.
Crossing Longhaven Cliffs Wildlife Reserve, the mist thickens. All I need now is a coach and horses — without a driver!
I pick my way through a deserted quarry before following the main road into Boddam, where a blue sky makes its first appearance of the day. I’m forced into a huge detour inland as the coast route appears to be blocked by a factory, and I’m running out of time to risk a dead-end.
Approaching Peterhead, I’ve missed my planned bus, with a two-hour wait for the last bus, getting me into Fraserburgh around midnight. I pass up the certainty of this option and take a risk by jumping on a bus in the opposite direction back toward Aberdeen. There’s a six-minute window to switch direction at Toll of Birness and catch a bus up to Fraserburgh, but if my bus is late or the other is early then I’ll be stranded in the middle of nowhere.
The bus is a worrying couple of minutes late but drops me off in a layby at the Toll of Birness, There is no marked bus stop. I don’t think many people come this way. The driver says the other bus will stop at the opposite layby, so I dash across.
Two minutes later my bus appears. I put my hand out and, to my horror, it zooms past. Oh no! Was I standing in the wrong place? What now? Hitchhike?
Then the bus indicates, brakes and pulls over a few hundred yards up the road. I run along the verge. The driver says he’s never picked anyone up from my spot. I love Google Maps.
It’s 10:30 before I arrive at Fraserburgh. I’m hungry and thirsty, so dump my gear in my Airbnb, pick up a stale sandwich from Tescos, and walk down an alley to the only bar in town still open. This is a big mistake. The beer is awful and I leave after a few sips. It does not look like the sort of place where it’s wise to complain about the beer.
I make do with a cup of tea back at the house. The host has kindly left a coffee-table book about wild adventures on the table, so I curl up on the sofa and flick through it. Almost as wild as my day.
Date of walk: Wednesday 26 June 2024.
Walk distance: 23 miles.
Total distance: 4,403 miles.
old scrote lol
Another long but intersting day. We are a long way off having a compltete usable coastal path around the Isle. Did you use that bridge?
I did cross it, after careful prodding with my hiking pole!
At least the old scrote thought you looked capable of scrambling up the rocks. This encounter might have been the highlight of his day, did he actually watch your rock climbing skills?
I did laugh when I got to the top and found the path. Strange folk. 🙂
Very atmospheric!