Tag: viewpoint

Fife Coastal Path: Kirkcaldy to East Wemyss

Aug 15th, 2026

I planned this walk for a last-minute day off, and while the morning started off a bit more overcast than expected, with big dark threatening clouds and strong wind near Kirkcaldy, I had hopes that it would not disrupt my walk too badly. I was not as energised as I wanted, and the bus trip took a bit longer than I had hoped after a few delays. Nevertheless, by 10.15am I was in Kirkcaldy and ready to find the Coastal Path where I had left it last summer.

After a bumpy warm bus ride during which I found myself almost dozing off, the fresh air and wind woke me up immediately, clearing my head as I set off down the stairs that lead to the beach.

One small item of potential confusion here is that there is a high- and low-tide route around Ravenscraig, so signs for the path seem to be a bit contradictory. I always prefer the low tide route if I can, and sure enough by the time I’d reached the bottom of the steps, there was a clear sign ahead of me.

The path runs directly below Ravenscraig Castle, and I might have stopped to take a few more pictures, but as usual was ready to get going. Like with so many castles on this route, I shall have to come back again and renew the pictures I took years ago when the other half planned a castle day for us.

The trail hugs the wall below the castle then opens up onto the beach, from which there are views across to Edinburgh and Leith. It was clear there, so I had hopes that my side of the Firth would also clear up and my sunglasses – which I had only just remembered to bring – would be required.

Ahead of me was an impressive rock cliff, and a set of stone stairs leading up from the beach into the treeline; another great spot for Geologists I am sure.

At the top of the steps, the path enters lush forests and almost immediately ahead on the right is a late medieval doocot with ivy beginning to grow up and around it. Just past the doocot is a detour down to an ocean gate, but the view was not particularly remarkable on a grey day.

Beyond the doocot the path continues to follow the top of the cliff, weaving in and out of the treeline with great views when it is open and a pleasant cool path when the trees close in. I passed this unusual lookout point which reminded me strongly of the signature lookout towers of Old San Juan, though perhaps less dramatic.

This was also, I thought, probably one of the last opportunities to look back at Ravenscraig Castle, which incongruously stands only across the road from the modern high-rise Ravenscraig Flats, built in the style from the 1950s and 60s. This style is, unfortunately, quite famously ugly, but was popular with local councils and can still be seen in many Scottish towns and cities.

I was intrigued to note that, contrary to many parts of the coastline, this stretch included a defensive wall down close to the rocks or beach; I wondered about how old the wall was and why it might have been built.

At several points along the wall, there were gates or doorways that allowed for access to the beach; there were also very regular informal routes leading off to viewpoints through the trees. I found myself distracted by all of these potential detours, so instead determined that I would skip almost all of them, as I really needed to make some progress. I did not have a massive amount of time between when I hoped to get home and when I needed to be back in town for an appointment – I had plenty of time, until the bus ran late in the morning. Massive tailbacks on the Forth Road Bridge indicated that this delay was likely to grow worse over the course of the day, as the routes I would take all went to or from Edinburgh.

So, I set my mind to thinking about Dysart Harbour and to enjoying this part of the trail, which was a bit different from the other sections I had walked. I could see that there were other paths joining this one, and also could appreciate that there was no way you could walk on the water side of the wall, as the inlets are cut off by rocks and waves. As I hoped, after about a mile or so of walking my energy normalised, with my body recognising what I was up to; the first few minutes did not feel great, and I was questioning whether I had the stamina to go on. Stubbornness prevailed, though, and I found my rhythm, reminding myself not to give up early.

Around this time, the stone wall ended and the path dipped down into a grassy area with some benches looking across the water. I was not convinced that I was going the correct way as there were a few variations on paths here, and no signage, but as usual I decided to trust my instinct.

It turned out that the gap in the wall was just that – a gap, not the end – and the path weaved in and out behind the wall for some time, though I wasn’t really confident which path was the ‘official’ Coastal Path.

It doesn’t really matter of course, as in areas like this two parallel paths are so close as to be essentially the same, but I am nothing if not pedantic. A side note, I had decided after a year to invest in a small voice recorder, so that rather than making notes as I walked on my phone, I could save its battery and just record my thoughts, to transcribe later. I found myself hoping that I did not look to crazy speaking into the thing, though, and tried to do it only when I was alone.

In time, I rounded a corner and was able to see ahead of me the stone walls of Dysart Harbour, sticking out into the Firth. I was hoping that I would not have to climb up to the top of the cliff wall ahead, and fortunately I did not. Instead, there was – finally – a sign for the Coastal Path directing me through a tunnel and onto the open wharf. What an amazing defensive measure this must have been!

I think it is safe to say that I fell in love with Dysart Harbour. At first glance it may not appear that different from other Scottish harbours, with quays and walls protruding out into the water and creating protective inlets, but this one included so many layers that it was fascinating to try to follow them. The quays themselves are still paved with old stones, a touch uneven, and they are built right back to the massive cliff face of weather-carved sandstone. I did not realise at the time that the harbour had been used for filming Outlander but I can recognise it a bit now, and see why it would appeal. I could have spent hours just watching this harbour, taking pictures, but instead I just slowed my walk as I rounded the inner harbour and headed back out along the path.

This would be an incredible place to take pictures in the sun, so I have determined I must return. Frustratingly, the clouds were persisting and even in later editing were less dramatic than sun would have been. There are, I should mention, a few spots here to stop for some lunch or a coffee, including the headquarters of the Fife Coast and Countryside Trust, who manage the Coastal Path.

I did not get far into Dysart before being again distracted by this clearly old medieval tower, emerging from behind well-kept sixteenth and seventeenth-century white cottages.

This tower is, I quickly discovered, the ruins of St Serf’s Manse, a six-storey church tower dating from about 1500, though the connected church was much older. The church was abandoned and demolished in the early 1800s.

This part of Dysart is really lovely, with gardens, well-kept cottages, and winding paths and roads that clearly date from hundreds of years ago. The view across to the city is fantastic here, and it would be a great place to come and wander about on a sunny day.

Beyond the houses, a seawall stretches out along the coast and in the distance I can see what I imagine is West Wemyss, on the next corner of coast. There was some sun at this point but mainly on the water, and a patch of blue was sitting just overhead, but not strong enough to impact the pictures. From here the path continues with stubbornly little signage – an obsession of mine on this walk – and a cacophony of scents from wild garlic, berries, and the almost sickeningly sweet buddleia or butterfly bush (a tall weed with clumps of purple flowers).

The path continued along for some time, eventually cutting inland slightly around the back of a set of basketball courts, still below the line of houses. It was about this point that I finally took off my jacket, as while it was still windy, the exercise was warming me. I was becoming a bit frustrated at this point with the almost total lack of signage, which is less common further up the trail; it was only after I had climbed some stairs to another viewpoint and across a small park that I finally found a sticker. So I may have taken the wrong way through this part of town, but it was also the one closest to the coast so, it was close enough.

At the edge of town is a memorial to the men and women who worked in the Frances Colliery. Coal mining was a massive industry in Fife from the 1500s until the 1980s, with many local families still recalling family members who worked and died in the mines. One red tower remains that would have sat atop the mines, as a clear reminder. Interestingly I have not long finished a Val McDiarmid book which also closely addressed mining, in particularly in East and West Wemyss and of course Coaltown of Wemyss. Coal and agriculture are, to this day, very evident in Fife.

As I headed out of the down I was happy to see a very clear Coastal Path sign, after which I walked along a long fence linked with fireweed, a bright pink-purple flowered weed that is everywhere just now, and brambles ripe with blackberries. Happily, the sun was coming out, frustratingly only about 20 minutes too late to catch it in Dysart. But, an excuse to go back.

The path curves in to the left, along a mental fence, and there isn’t much to see except intermittent views across the Firth of Forth. I could just identify the Bass Rock and Leith, though the view was mostly hazy and grey.

I was struggling a bit at this point with energy – despite a carb-heavy dinner the night before – and with my knees, which had been bothering me ever since our drive down south, though this just makes me feel even older. It did mean that when I came to the top of a long set of winding steps, I was a bit apprehensive.

Slowly, carefully, I made my way down, pausing once to let the couple behind me go past (I shall not address the age difference between us, suffice it to say, I was the junior), and once to take advantage of the view.

At the bottom of the steps the view opened up beautifully across to West Wemyss, perching on the side of a hill, my next goal. The path here evened out and weaves in and out of the treeline for a bit, and the number of people on the trail lessened significantly to the point where I was almost alone.

The sun did start to peak through and a gentle breeze made it a really comfortable day for walking, though the route through the trees meant that I really did not take many pictures, instead starting thinking about what route I would take the following Wednesday.

After about ten minutes the view opens up again and here the sun came out briefly to allow for some pictures in both directions. A seawall offers a short alternative to the path, before it meets a stone wall along which the path leads for the next few hundred yards.

I knew that at some point the path would cut inland but I wasn’t sure where, so followed the stretch of path along the wall, which was punctuated with arched openings through which I could just catch a glimpse of some kind of ruin. Pausing here to look back, I noticed a gigantic pile of red sandstone that I had just glimpsed through the trees earlier on, similar to the dramatic outcroppings you see further up the coast. The colours were dramatic too, with the sun shining off the waves and sand, but dark cloud still hovering in the distance.

Up ahead was the mouth of West Wemyss harbour, and my first thought was that it must be a mid- to high-tide access harbour only, as the sand bar seemed to stretch quite far out. I wondered if it had silted up gradually over the generations, or if fishermen just always dealt with the changing tides that they would have known almost instinctively.

There is also a large saltire flag here, and numerous small skiffs and dinghies belonging to the West Wemyss Boating Club, which is a small stone rectangular building that looks like it is either incredibly old or very new.

Like many East Neuk harbours, West Wemyss has an inner harbour which is small but very protected, and there is a large open grassy area before the edge of the town proper.

There are some well-kept older buildings at this end of town, and a glance at the map indicated that the path here turned inland towards Coaltown of Wemyss; there was a sign pointing that way as the high tide route. My increasing exhaustion and stubbornness overcame this direction however, and I decided that I did not wish to walk a half mile or more out of the way – also, a high tide route indicated that there was also a low tide route. The tide was quite low and so I stuck to the coast, following the wall and line of old fishermen houses.

The sky was bright blue by this time, with the sun bright above me; it is one of those posts where it is almost hard to believe that all of the pictures were taken on the same day. I noticed that down at the far end of town the council had done what it does in so many towns, and build a set of flats that completely failed to fit in with the aesthetic of the town: grey, harled and obviously much newer than anything else around them.

But the gardens were lovely.

And I was relieved and thrilled to discover that, when I reached the end of the line of houses, there was a cul-de-sac with very clear Coastal Path signage. Hurrah, despite taking a risk that I would have to backtrack, I was victorious! The wall beside the old kirk – still in use – led away along the coast with glimpses of Wemyss Castle in the distance. There was also a warning sign that care should be taken during high tide, which I happily passed by, having shortened my route by about half a mile or so.

The view became quite a standard south Coastal Path view: up ahead on the horizon I could see a massive wind turbine belonging to one of the towns further up, possibly Kirkcaldy but I think a bit closer than that. The trail levelled out and the beach is more open shale and rock as normal.

I was abundantly pleased with myself that I had gambled on this route, and while I could not see much of the castle – only a red turret sticking out of the foliage – it was far superior to the road. In fact, it seemed to me as I mused that you could probably manage a good portion of this route even at high tide as along as the weather was good – but of course I don’t know for sure.

The wind died down, the sun was out and the beach was lined with beautiful light purple flowers. As I went on, large trees became visible growing on the cliffs above, and up ahead I noted a cliff that I hoped would mark the edge of the town.

I was flagging by this point and could of course have sat down to take a rest, but I was too stubborn as I really wanted to make the bus that would go through East Wemyss at about 1pm.

The light purple flowers were replaced by darker magenta thistle-type flowers, and there are banks of yellow sea daisies and rose hips still blooming a bright pink – a very colourful walk.

It was also interesting to look ahead along the coastline and think about how much I had done.

The headland in the distance was I think about where the chain walk to Elie is, and I’ve done the section between Leven and Lower Largo, though there is still plenty more to do.

Not far from the edge of town there is a lichen-encrusted wooden sign that directs walkers up through a grassy patch to the tree line – I hoped this meant that I was soon to reach East Wemyss and the end of my walk. The path is well-marked here as it winds through the woods above the harbour and wharf area, and I could begin to see rooftops ahead.

The same red stone wall that lined the path in West Wemyss has been continued here in East Wemyss, and I joined it after going down a few steps to the road level. This end of town was mostly relatively new homes, built I would think in the last 15-20 years, all well-kept and protected from the ocean by the seawall and breakwater.

I officially finished my walk at the point where the road turns up to Main Street, marking almost exactly 4.5 miles.

Frustratingly, the route up to the main road where I could pick up the bus was mostly up-hill, and a bus passed me by just as I was reaching the street. The earlier trouble with busses reared its head again, and I discovered that the bus I wanted was running 45 minutes late.

A few desperate messages to the other half later, we agreed that I would take a bus to Leven (these busses were running) where he would collect me. It was a bit of a drive for him but a nice day for it, and I was extremely grateful. Never easy to be entirely dependent upon public transport, and always better not to be time constrained if you are. On my next walk, I followed that belief more closely.
Fife Coastal Path: Dalgety Bay to Aberdour

Aug 6th, 2026

July was a hectic month, and I knew August would be similar – though I’ve managed a few days off to make sure I can complete another few miles – so I made sure that my one free weekend included a hike. As I’ve mentioned before, most of my routes are now a fair distance from home, and as it was a Sunday, I decided to commandeer the car for the morning and drove to Aberdour in time for a train along to Dalgety Bay.

I’ll admit I really was not in the mood to drag myself out of bed for this adventure, but I am so glad – as always – that I did.

The train is only about 5 minutes and was absolutely packed, as was the free parking in Aberdour, though based on the people I saw around me, most were parking to attend a yoga or Pilates class. It was all very straight-forward, and the morning started off with a misty rain that we were desperate for, as it has been incredibly dry. Most of eastern Scotland is verging on official drought conditions, as we have had almost no rain at all in July – the East Neuk and North Fife were declared to be in Significant Water Scarcity by SEPA. This follows a warmer-than-usual spring and is paired with excessive warmth in England, where there have been multiple heatwaves. One of the most troubling outcomes of this scarcity is the uptick in wild fires – a recycling centre in Fife was on fire, Hill of Tarvit experienced a brief fire, the Cairngorms experienced a devastating fire that required the evacuation of at least one village, Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh was on fire, and most recently fires in Suffolk in England threatened towns and a nuclear power station. I hope the worst is now behind us.

The train station in Aberdour is really lovely – an old Victorian style with decorative curled iron roof supports as in so many British rail stations. There is also an impressively bright and well-kept garden with hanging plants, rose bushes, and layers of landscaping.

I exited the train station in Dalgety Bay and immediately saw a sign directing me along the road for the Fife Coastal Path and St David’s Harbour, where I knew I was to start. This road is a bit longer than I had hoped it might be and included some up and down over hills.

At the top of one of the first hills I was greeted by this view of the Forth Rail Bridge, and the road winds through some really lovely housing estates. The sun was fighting hard to break through the clouds, but I found myself frustrated as the longer-than-expected walk down to the harbour was eating into both the time and energy that I hoped to spend on the path itself. I had remembered from various bus trips to Edinburgh – back in the day when the bus looped through the town – that Dalgety Bay was incredibly hilly, and this walk reaffirmed that memory; the town hugs the side of hills and valleys, sprawling down towards the water.

Finally, after more time than I’d hoped, I reached the coast, officially starting my walk at the anchor by the water of St David’s Harbour, where there were great views of the bridges – this was to be a common site, and I am excited in a few more outings to walk under the bridges.

From the anchor, I followed signs for the coastal path through the car park of an apartment building, and then off up the path seen above, which winds through well-kept landscape. I think that picture shows well just how dry the ground was, the grass all prickly and itchy rather than soothing and cool. The air was sticky and humid, even after the sun succeeded in peeking through enough that I was required to dig out my sunglasses for a short time.

After a short walk through residential areas with some absolutely lovely large houses – I had forgotten how well-off parts of this area are, though it makes sense with its proximity to the city – I continued on the path that gradually makes its way around the bay, weaving in and out of woodland. The views are primarily of the coastline back towards the bridges, though across the water is of course the shore of Lothian west of Edinburgh and Hound Point, a marine oil export terminal where tankers can dock and fill up.

At several points there are short detours off of the main trail to impressive viewpoints. The first is the Heritage Viewpoint over the bridges, which you will see in the cover image for this post. The second is Drowning Point Battery, a World War I gun battery built to defend the Firth of Forth. At that point, the area was part of the Donibristle Estate belonging to the Earl of Moray – most of the estate has now been built upon as Dalgety Bay. To reach the Battery you must climb some pretty steep stairs, but the view is amazing in all directions. Just visible looking east is the outline of Inchcolm Island and its famous abbey.

Something I continue to love about the Coastal Path is just how surprising it can be – even on a walk where you do not anticipate stunning views of further around the East Neuk, you find something equally impressive to enjoy. Even though I know this to be true, I am continually surprised. This route is very seldom boring.

One of the most notable changes on the day I walked was just how incredibly still it was. After several days of intense wind, the air was completely calm and Firth of Forth almost like glass in places – not a common occurrence. I was also delighted to be using a new backpack that I had been donated by my mother. It is an LL Bean small pack with an outer pocket for my camera – perfect – though probably is meant for a sleeping roll.

Descending from the Drowning Point

means that you have turned a corner and are looking up the coast along Drowning Point Beach. The views of the bridges are temporarily obscured. The path leaves the woodland behind and re-joins a road through the village.

Across the water I could see that the sun was shining on Leith though it appeared to be raining in the city of Edinburgh proper, which was fascinating to see. I was also relieved that there appeared to be no more smoke rising from Arthur’s Seat, which had been plagued with wildfires.

As I continued to weave in and out of the housing estates, I was intrigued by a sign for Donibristle Chapel. It pointed off towards a path through the woods, with no real indication as to how far the chapel was.

My FOMO kicked in after a few moments though and I decided a detour was required; I was not disappointed!

This chapel was built as a private mortuary chapel for nearby Donibristle House and nine earls of Moray are buried here. There is no access to the roofless interior, but the clean lines of are very pleasing and the detour was only minutes.

After the chapel, the path passes through another residential district and then back down to hug the coast. This section is quite well-marked as long as you are paying attention.

Beyond the housing estate is the what remains of Donibristle House. This had originally been constructed in the eighteenth century though the main house burned in 1858. What remains has since been used by the Royal Navy Air Service during World War I, and in the 1970s converted to housing.

Housing with incredible views across the Firth of Forth, that is – it takes no time at all to understand why the Earls of Moray would build a great house here.

Around the old estate the gardens are well-manicured – if dry – and I can only imagine they would have been really impressive a bit earlier in the summer.

Winding through the gardens, one re-joins the road just in front of the impressive old stable block for the estate which is now also housing.

I was trying to take as much advantage of the view as I could, as I knew that at some point, the path would turn inland and cut across fields before reaching Aberdour. Shortly beyond the stable block is a lovely little park with an old quay and seats to sit and enjoy the view across to Edinburgh – if I had more time, I would have stayed here quite happily for some time.

I feel I should mention that while I was not passing through any areas of high grass, I was also being careful to check for ticks on a regular basis. My understanding is that ticks do not like dry weather, though, so that is one advantage.

After enjoying the view and the banks of nearby sea roses and hydrangea, I continued on my way, turning slightly inland through a housing area and then into some woodland. Here I wished for a bit of breeze, as while there were not too many bugs, a bit of wind would have cleared them right away. Beyond the trees to my right was the beach where apparently radioactive contamination had been found – so I guess not having time to explore isn’t a bad thing. The contamination comes from World War II, when military planes from former RAF Donibristle were dismantled and buried on the beach, leaving behind radium-contaminated fragments. Massive clean-up efforts have taken place since discovery of radioactivity in the 1990s, and the beach is safe for use if not for digging.

There was also a recent alert that Aberdour Beach was not safe for swimming, but this suited me fine – I am not really a fan of long muddy beaches especially at low tide.

As I walked through the trees, I noted regular reminders that the coastal path is also – here – a National Cycle Path, and so walkers should be on the lookout for cyclists. One hopes the opposite is also true. Speaking of, is it just me that walks along perfectly normally until someone appears behind me? Then it seems I invariably trip over my own feet or become unbearably awkward. Might just be me.

I was a bit concerned that I had taken a wrong turn somewhere, as there were a few side-paths that were not marked, but a quick check of the map showed that I still had a way to go before I reached St Bridget’s Kirk and the turn inland. While I was worried I had missed the kirk, I was equally a touch dismayed to realised how badly I had misjudged my distance walked. In fact, I seem to be oddly inaccurate with distances while walking, which is not really like me – several times I have checked the map to discover that I am either much further along than expected or not nearly as far as I hoped. The latter was the case this time, as I knew that the kirk marked a rough halfway point. I was fine physically, definitely had it in me to keep going, but I could feel the exercise that I had not done for a while. Plus, I had a good mile or more under my belt before joining the path.

After a short wander through the woods, ahead of me through the foliage loomed a stone wall. While there is a narrow path between the wall and the beach, it is quite clear that this is where the Coastal Path turns left, hugging the edge of the wall.

I have to admit to being really delighted with St Bridget’s Kirk. I am not sure what I expected, but this was a really great ruin that can be explored in depth. Stairs in several places lead up to the second floor or a view over the sanctuary, and there are grave stones of various ages and state of repair.

Originally built in the 1100s, the kirk served as a local parish church, with worship arranged by the canons of nearby Inchcolm Abbey.

The kirk experienced a great deal of development after the Reformation in the 1560s, and was eventually abandoned in the 1830s, when the congregation moved to a new site. While I am sure there were reasons, I cannot think of a good one, not when the views are so excellent across the Forth and out to Inchcolm. I suppose this was less important post-Reformation.

I did pause here for a short time, having some water and catching my breath a bit, but I knew I still had a way to go and the day was ticking on.

One last view…

So, off I went along the edge of the wall and then onto a road that headed straight inland, as expected. This passed between the housing estate and the field, with a gentle incline up to the main path.

Upon reaching the path, I found the above sign, indicating Aberdour just under two miles away. This wasn’t quite the news I was hoping for, and I started to wonder if I had bitten off a bit more than I was ready to chew, but I really didn’t have any choice. My pace was slowing and I was feeling tired, but a gentle breeze had started as if to keep me moving.

I kept myself busy, thinking about how glad I was that I did the walk in this direction and did not leave myself the big hill in Dalgety Bay to finish with. This is oddly becoming a sticking point with me – I have done most of my walk counter-clockwise along the edge of Fife, but I may need to break the trend relatively soon, as there are several walks that really have to be done the other way – including the last stretch, from Culross to Kincardine. The obsessive in me does not want to break this streak, but common sense tells me I have to.
I was also, by this point, becoming a little worried about the bathroom issue. The train station in Aberdour was closed on Sundays, and I did not pass any other public options. This is yet another issue with walking on Sundays (other than scarcity of public transport), which I normally try to avoid.

As I reached the level path and trudged along it, I passed a number of people out for Sunday walks, many with dogs, and a few paused to say hello or say good morning. One gent even encouraged me to keep going as I was so close – a lie, but a kind one.

Looking back towards the Firth, I could see that the rain had closed in over the bridges, so I clearly caught them at the best time, with a touch of sun. The rain was coming my way too, if the field of cows and sheep huddling under trees was any indication.
One of the more remarkable aspects of Scottish landscape, particularly in Fife, is how quickly it can turn from agricultural to industrial – in the bottom left of the four pictures above you can just see the machinery of Exxon-Shell Braefoot Bay, though between were fields of animals.
The closer I got to Aberdour, the darker the clouds became, and as I trudged on past the golf course, the clouds did open, drizzling through the trees and demanding umbrellas for the golfers. It was just gentle enough that I did not really mind or need to worry about cover.

Finally, at the end of the golf course, I met the main street, where I passed several open shops and cafés on my way back to the train station. I was tempted to pause, but really wanted to get back home where visiting family was waiting. I am very tempted to return some time soon to explore the castle and the town in more depth.

One more, my favourite picture taken on this day of the view across the Firth of Forth

In total this walk took me just over two hours, though that includes a stop at St Bridget’s Kirk. It was a nice route – possibly nicer than I expected – and I am looking forward to a return to Dalgety Bay in the near future.

I’m not sure yet if the next walk will be near to the bridge area or filling in some of the gaps between Kirkcaldy and Leven, but I hope to make some good progress before work travel resumes in September.
Summer Holiday in Massachusetts, Part 2: The 4th of July!

Jul 22nd, 2026

There is no question that Marblehead takes the 4th of July very seriously. Most of the US does of course, but I have always felt that my hometown really knows how to celebrate. Firstly, the 4th itself tends to fall at or towards the end of the Marblehead Festival of Arts, a 60-year-old tradition of sharing arts of all kinds – performance, music, paint, photography, sculpture and more, from all age and experience levels. I even had some art displayed in it myself, as a child. Secondly, we don’t just do a fantastic fireworks display, but we start the events with the harbor illumination, which I will discuss more below. Thirdly, Marblehead is a town which loves its Colonial-era history, embodied in Glover’s Marblehead Regiment, a group of locals who dress in clothing from the 1770’s and re-enact significant events.

This includes the famous moment on Christmas night 1776 when men of the regiment rowed George Washington across the Delaware River. Marblehead Harbor generally stands in for the river.

Apparently the rowers were from Marblehead.

As I mentioned in my last post, it had been many years since I had been home for this massive national holiday, and I was really excited to experience it again. The days leading up to the 4th had been incredibly hot, so hot that some Festival of Arts activities had been cancelled. But, we managed to get a bit of a wander around and on the Saturday itself, the heat finally became a bit more manageable.

Marblehead Festival of Arts

This year, coinciding with the country’s birthday also happened to be the 60th anniversary of the Festival. There was plenty of excitement and I picked up a commemorative guide book, as well as the requisite t-shirt and a few other souvenirs. I am still impressed that we got the glass back intact…

I went through a phase of collecting t-shirts from every year with the different logos, and recently I’ve tried to resurrect this tradition. Annoyingly most of the old shirts are long gone, but as I looked through this spread of logos from the last 60 years, a few did look familiar. Every year, proposals for the logo are voted upon and selected from a huge range of entries, and while the themes are generally similar, some are markedly better than others. I quite liked this year’s lobster.

The festival activities take over most of the public buildings in Old Town Marblehead, including Abbot Hall, the Town House, and most of the churches (of which there are many, this is old New England after all). Events take place across town, and in the evenings there are open-air concerts at Crocker Park. The sounds from these used to drift across town on summer nights, but I think the volume has been turned down a bit recently. Other events include the Lobster Lunch at St Michael’s Church, where you can purchase a lobster roll or hot dog along with potato chips and other goodies; a raffle where the prize was 20lbs of lobster; an artisan’s market at Abbot Hall; and, this year, chalk street art made by whoever passed by.

The other half and I went out a few times into the heat in the days prior to the 4th, and I spent a bit of time listening to the concerts as I went for my evening walks. It was great to see so many people out – especially on Friday night – bringing beach chairs and blankets up onto the rocks to overlook the harbor and listen to the music. There were kids running around having clearly been in the water, snacks and drinks, dogs, lots of chaos – just good fun. And plenty of bug spray for the mosquitos that come out at dusk.

Fort Sewall and the Boat parade

One thing we definitely did not have the last time I was home in July was Facebook, and a myriad of town-focussed groups publishing endless timetables and reminders about what was taking place. This is how I learned about Glover’s Regiment reading the Declaration of Independence at Fort Sewall, while the annual boat parade wound through the harbor. Despite still impressive heat and eager Marbleheaders already setting up chairs to watch the fireworks that evening, we headed up to listen.

The Regiment was also preparing to fire off a canon 13 times in honor of the 13 original colonies, while some fired muskets, and the Declaration was read in parts. There was a good amount of interest in both, and I found a spot a the front of the crowd next to the microphone, so that I was able to hear the reading. Spoiler alert, the video below only includes the first few stanzas, as we decided we were not up for listening to the whole Declaration. We were game, but they were pausing regularly for the canon, which took a few minutes to fire, and the bowl shape of the old fort meant that we were getting no breeze, in direct sun. So, we heard through ‘life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness’ then headed down a level to watch the boats – in the breeze.

Video of the celebrations leading up to and on the 4th of July:

The boat parade is also traditional and consists of as many boats as possible putting on their patriot glad rags (flags, bunting, whatever), gathering at the mouth of the harbor, and then proceeding in a parade down past the yacht clubs and then up the other side. We caught the first part, anyway.

The reading was at noon, so after a bit of time watching the boats we decided that it was time to head home to lunch – and air conditioning.

Later that evening, we all piled into the car and drove back towards the Fort for the famous annual 4th of July party of some old family friends/former neighbours. They live right on the harbor, with impeccable views.

As evening fell, the thunderstorms that had been threatening to ruin our holiday and delay the fireworks were visible if you looked towards the south. But, as if decreed by the Founding Fathers, the clouds stayed well out to sea and passed us by. The sun set behind us (Marblehead faces east, not a great sunset location), casting a yellow glow over the boats in the harbor and the Neck on the far side.

The Illumination and Fireworks

I have been trying to do a bit of research to work out when or why the illumination started, but without any luck. Our neighbour’s son told me – upon my asking – that his father had been asked to help manage the illumination along Fort Sewall Beach, and so some of the flares were set up and lit by him. In short, flares are spread out around the harbor at relatively equal intervals – perhaps 10 feet? – and, as the sun goes down, they are lit. The sky grows darker and is overtaken by a red glow that surrounds the harbor.

The best view is really from a boat, but those of us at Fort Sewall Beach had a good view too. There is something completely transformative for me about watching this illumination. The smell of the flares and the honk of the boat horns dragged me right back to teen or even tween years, when I might have watched this from Dad’s sailboat or here at Fort Sewall Beach, with family and friends, seeing classmates and half the people you know in town. Every Marblehead family has a special spot for this tradition.

Then, as the flares begin to die and the sky is truly dark, the barge that has been moored at the mouth of the harbor for at least a day or two awakens, and the firework display begins.

I took so many pictures that they could really only be shared in video form. I hope you enjoy.

A short note here about fireworks. I know that many people object to them, particularly for the torture they inflict on pets and people suffering Post-Traumatic Stress. Fireworks are, after all, meant to sound like warfare, memorialising the ‘rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air’. I entirely sympathise with this, particularly as our own dog was terrified every July 4th, trembling for hours. I am so happy to see that there are now real efforts being made to find ways to comfort pets, who have less free will than people, through blankets that provide gentle pressure and other measures, because quite frankly, fireworks are inevitable on the 4th. I hope that solutions to help pets and people continue and grow more effective.

The morning after the fireworks was our last in the US, as our flight home was that evening (or was supposed to be, though we got caught up in a massive airport-wide fault). But, I discovered that in my excitement I had left my lens cap at our friends’ house, and so we took one last walk up to Fort Sewall. As it was a Sunday and another warm one, the beach was busy with swimmers and boaters – anything to be in or on the water.

I have to say, I truly enjoyed my time home for this holiday and I hope that we can try it again in a few years. The heat was definitely more than I recall experiencing in the past, and it would have been nice to be able to see more of the festival.

Next time, fingers crossed.

I have not done a great deal of reflection on why this holiday was so special to me, nor on what was taking place nation-wide at the time. The latter I will avoid entirely. But being able to take part in the celebrations meant a great deal to me as part of this last year’s reconnection with my roots. My job has allowed me to travel in the US far more than I would ever have had the chance to otherwise, and returning home always has a special meaning. It was so comforting to see that while the people and fashions have changed, so much of what made this Festival special when I was young still exists. The art is still sent in by beginners, children, students and professionals; the ice cream is still the best and drips down your arm; the lobster rolls are still served in the most basic of hot dog bun, which is of course the correct way; the teenagers still move in large groups, trying to find friends or schoolmates; Abbot Hall stands as the main beacon, the one place in town everyone can see; the concerts at Crocker Park are still funky and fun and carry sound over the water; the illumination still cast a red glow over faces and rocks and the harbor as if in anticipation of what is to come; and families still gather on the rocks or on boats to watch fireworks. Even after living away for many years, I was able to touch base, on the 4th, with friends I have known since kindergarten, and I found myself grinning like a child as I watched the display over Fort Sewall.
Fife Coastal Path: Boarhills to the Fairmont Hotel

Jun 10th, 2026

Last Saturday started off overcast, though the clouds were light grey and white, which usually are not hugely threatening. So I headed off to fill in the relatively short gap I had between walks, so that I could say I have finished the whole distance from Ely to Tentsmuir – East Neuk done! I hoped that the cloud would lighten, though as I rode the bus to Boarhills to pick up where I left off last week, the colours shifted to a bit darker…oh well.

A bit of rain was all I expected to see, and that wouldn’t hurt me – I was feeling determined. We had quite a dramatic week of weather, I should mention, with lots of big grey clouds and thunderstorms, so I hoped that the day would be a bit more settled even if not sunny. I tested fate a bit by bringing my sunglasses and not wearing my raincoat.

I alighted from the good old 95 bus at the Boarhills stop which is incredibly awkwardly placed, at the end of the entrance road to the village. My views were some lazy cows (not a good sign for weather) and the village filling in the gaps between wide green fields.

From the bus stop, it is a short downhill stroll into the village, and I turned right up the farm access road towards where I had broken off my walk last Saturday.

It took me just under ten minutes to make my way back to where the Coastal Path splits from the farm road, though it is almost identical in appearance – a wide farm track with two ruts, accessible by vehicle as well as foot. This path took me across a field with views across the water towards the distant hills behind Dundee. It was a good day for a walk, with a gentle breeze and comfortable temperatures of about 13℃/55℉, and while overcast the air was clear.

After about 5 minutes on this track there is a short section on the road, and then a quick turn off again to the right, behind the doocot above. This is essentially a detour around some large farm buildings, then the path strikes out again across the fields. A sunnier day may have required more pictures, but overcast skies without dramatic clouds just don’t do much for me, and the wind had picked up, so I moved along a bit faster until I reached another signpost. This directed walkers off to the right, towards the coast, along a grassy trail.

There was a short spot of rain as I crossed this section of field, but oddly I only noticed it from the sound of the drops hitting the grass – it was so light I did not feel it on my face, hair or clothing. It made the faintest dots on my coat before stopping again.

Ahead along the coast is a cluster of bushes, and an obvious left turn towards St Andrews – through a gate and down a hill, the path descends almost to beach level. Here is the first of many views looking north, this one at least assuring me that the tide was low enough not to be an issue. Yes, I had again forgotten to check the times.

At beach level, you can see ahead towards Buddo Rock, with cliffs on the horizon that are very familiar to anyone who has walked near and around St Andrews. The sun was trying very hard to fight its way through the clouds, but it was not quite strong enough to win.

The path had narrowed here considerably, so that I was walking through almost waist-deep grass and plants, positively soaking my jeans and boots. This part of the route is clearly not well-used and so I gather is not as well maintained. Hiding in the more harmless plants were plenty of prickly thistles, nettles and other less pleasant flora – I should have gone down to the beach and stayed there instead. I was beginning to wonder if I had in fact taken a wrong turn – the path was barely present enough to be followed – when from within the brush emerged a familiar Coastal Path post. I was not lost, but I was even wetter from knees down than if it had been pouring rain.

Eventually after what felt like miles of bivouacking (was only about ten minutes really), I reached Buddo Rock, which was really quite cool. The cliffs nearby show evidence of once having been connected, and the rock itself is a fascinating piece of geology, the sandstone surface folded and swirling like cloth or liquid.

I spent a few minutes wandering around the outside, getting pictures from all angles, and then backed away a little to a small stretch of rock and sand nearby. This would be an amazing spot on a day with more sun.

The cliff line is really interesting along here, with chunk of stone sticking out from the grass, and a couple indentations that could be the start of caves. It is easy to understand how there are several sets of caves along this coastline.

But, I could not stay here and be fascinated by the rock forever, and so I headed on, over a gate and into a more cared-for portion of the path.

Once past the gate, the trail begins to climb gently, with the cliffs on one side and a stone wall on the other. I knew that at some point I would need to climb back to golf course level, and I suspected at the time that it might be a more gentle climb. I was quite wrong.

In very little time, that supposition that the climb would be easy was dashed by a series of steady ups and downs, some of them with stone steps and others just rough-cut stairs.

This portion of the route was worth it, though, for several reasons. Firstly, the flowers, which vary between wildflowers, sea roses, foxglove or any number of other blossoms – lovely pinks, yellows, purples, and whites.

Secondly, for the view along the coast which was a completely new one I had never appreciated before – this far around the coast, I was looking almost straight down St Andrews pier, which was visible with a zoom lens.

The cliffs are also really fun to watch and see what new thing will emerge – there is a World War II bunker just visible for example, as well as countless hidden spots. This would be a phenomenal spot to come back to on a sunny day.

Moving on, there is a section of path made out of stepping stones to take you over a muddy patch. I could not stop marvelling at how amazing the view of St Andrews was from here, and I had to stop myself from re-taking the same picture over and over. The one above with rocks directly in the view was my final effort.

There is quite a lot of moving up and down the edge of the beach and cliff at this point, and many of the ‘steps’ are not in the best state. While the views are excellent, the almost continuous rise and fall makes this a more strenuous portion of the path, though at least my legs were starting to get warmer as they dried out. I was being followed at this point by a group of walkers less than five minutes behind me, which stressed me out slightly; I considered stopping to let them pass, but decided instead to push on. The weather was becoming a bit more threatening, and I had plenty to do once I had finished my walk.

As mentioned, the stairs here have in some places seen better days, and there were some significant drops particularly for those with shorter legs like mine. But, as long as you take it easy and pay attention to where you are putting your feet, it is certainly manageable.

In time, the path levelled out at beach level, with a large rock ahead. Another post directs walkers towards a flight of stairs and I realised that my earlier supposition was completely wrong: I would in fact have to climb from beach level to the golf course in one long winding go. I won’t lie – particularly with the other walkers behind me, this one was a push.

The steps vary from wooden slats to stone chunks, then closer to the top merge into just a hill. Then, just as you are starting to doubt your sanity on how far you have climbed, the sound of golf balls being whacked drifts into your ears, and the shape of the clubhouse appears on the horizon.

The path meets the green and follows it around to the access road, only steps from the spot where I had started my walk several months ago. I had made the foolish decision to remove my jacket at the beach level, but up on the course the wind was much stronger, and I found I had to pull the extra layer out of my pack again. It was also starting to spit with rain, and I still had a way to go, trudging up towards the road; my main priority was not being hit with an errant golf ball.

Overall, while this was a shorter walk than the previous week – 2 miles on the path and about 4 overall – it was arguably harder to do with a lot more climbing and descending, and of course the monumental climb at the end. The good news is that I definitely stretched out all of my back muscles that were bothering me.

Also, it didn’t really start to rain until the end.

One unpleasant after-effect though was that when I got home and was enjoying removing my boots, I discovered two ticks on my hand – one had bitten, one was still crawling around. The other half swiftly removed the one that had bitten with tweezers, and I squished the other – I do not think it had actually been there long. Compared to a US tick, it was quite small, but still necessitated a few shudders and an immediate shower. Apparently the weather in Scotland this spring has been perfect for ticks, so if you are out, be careful!

Speaking of weather, we are all being told that there is a Super El Niño coming. What exactly this will mean for Scotland is uncertain – more wet or more dry, either way I intend to continue on my walks. Now that the East Neuk is done, it’s time to focus on the south coast again. More in July when I am back!
Fife Coastal Path: Cambo Estate to Boarhills

Jun 3rd, 2026

Finally at it again! Saturday was supposed to be cloudy in the morning with rain coming in the afternoon, but I was determined to get a few more miles under my belt. I was not feeling hugely confident about my stamina, so found a mid-length section that I could do relatively close to home, though it is one of the last that will be so easy to reach: Cambo Estate to Boarhills. One exciting note about this walk, is that in completing I have officially passed the halfway mark on my journey.🎉 Still a long way to go.

Saturday morning started off breezy but mild (16℃/60℉) with an almost cloudless blue sky and bright sun. I had even remembered to check the tide, which was scheduled to be low at about 7.30am, so perfect for me. The actual Coastal Path section of this walk would be 4 miles, but I knew I had about a mile on each end to get to a road, so I spent the short bus journey reminding myself that I did 6 miles easily in Washington, so this should be fine.

The bus trip was pleasant, warm in the sun and the flowers at this time of year are stunning – peony roses, iris, poppies, rhododendron and so many more bursts of colour particularly as we rode through Kingsbarns.

I alighted bus just outside the gate to the Cambo Estate and enjoyed a pleasant walk along the access road through a wooded landscape full of chirping birds. A few purple rhododendron were hiding in amongst the trees, like on so many old Scottish estates. After about ten minutes I reached the cluster of buildings where there is a shop, café and access to the walled garden, though it was not due to open for another hour. I was a bit uncertain how to get past the buildings, but managed to skirt my way around and headed down through the grounds towards the coast.

I couldn’t resist capturing a few garden views on the way…

The spot where I had stopped my walk counter last year was the bridge over the creek, and so I picked up the path here, almost exactly 1 mile from where I had left the bus. The path emerges from the trees – quite welcome due to the prevalence of bugs hovering amongst the foliage – and onto the golf course. I was very happy to discover that the public toilets designed for walkers and golfers were open, so stopped for a moment before properly setting off.

I have done this section of the path several times with friends and it is a really nice walk, parking at Kingsbarns Beach and walking up to the estate and back. It runs along the edge of Kingsbarns Golf Links, offering great views up over the course to the clubhouse. Needless to say, views of the beach are also extraordinary.

The course was already busy at just before 9am on a Saturday, though the beach was quiet. In fact, one could probably walk on the sand at this point in the hike, if you wished. But, I had a feeling there would be required beach walking further up so I stuck to the trail, which is a wide sandy track, gently rolling as it hugs the line between beach and golf course. I did make the decision not to take too many pictures and instead to focus on getting some ground behind me, so powered on for the just over half a mile to the beach car park. As I have observed previously, walking the Fife Coastal Path is probably the best way to see a large number of golf courses without actually picking up a club!

This car park is often busy and you have to reach it early to get a spot, though it is also available for overnight stays with a good number of camper vans parked along one side. It is a popular local spot with a burger van, sauna, picnic tables, public toilets and a drinking water fountain. While he signs are not really clear, the Coastal Path instinct will take you through the car park and around the burger van.

Just beyond the picnic area is a nice spot to detour down to the beach, where there are some interesting rock formations and nice views – the beach here is quite sandy, between larger stretches of rock on either end of the cove.

The path narrows a bit here but is still easy to follow. It was also very quiet; normally I pass numerous dog walkers, hikers and runners but really only came across 3 or so groups; from the edge of Kingsbarns to Boarhills only 2 people total – not sure why, but I didn’t begrudge the quiet.

For about half a mile beyond the beach, the path follows the edge of the golf course, occasionally even crossing the green so that there are signs asking both golfers and walkers to be courteous of one another.

This stretch is very pleasant, mostly flat and not particularly strenuous. The breeze was gentle, and the view familiar but no less beautiful, with green on one side and the beach on the other.

At the edge of the golf course there is a sign warning walkers about the distance to St Andrews, as well as the treacherous nature of the trail in places. Almost immediately the path narrows considerably to the point where groups would need to walk single file, but it is still mostly flat. In little time, there is a large post directing walkers down to the beach until there is another sign (which I never actually saw, though I did work out when the path re-started).

I think you could probably just manage on the beach even at high tide, and while it is alternately sandy, I was able to find a shelf of rock to walk along for a while, and prevent my boots sinking into the soft sand. Ahead on the horizon was a house that I was using as a marker for when I should think about looking for the second sign, to return to the grass. When not sandy, the beach becomes treacherously rocky with those medium-sized rocks that are perfect for turning your ankle if you are not careful.

While you cannot necessarily see the cows from the beach, their scent leaves no doubt that they are just out of sight in the fields above. The runoff from one of the fields created this fascinating mini river delta on the beach, though it smelled awful. The hungry hiker in me also was sure I saw some dark fudge brownies in a pile of rocks…wishful thinking!

In time, the coastline juts outward – where the building is – and at that point you can look back all the way to Crail. Somehow distances on this coast never look as far as they are, and I remember that walk well as one of the best sections of the path.

Just when I was starting to get tired of plodding though sand, a slab of rock firmed up beneath my feet and lo and behold, the path re-appeared up ahead. It is still narrow here and a bit less even, edged with grass and wildflowers. I stopped for a moment to capture these gorgeous red poppies that stood out dramatically against the background.

A jumble of logs marks Babbet Ness, a headland that comprises another sort of ‘corner’, where the coastline turns at an almost right angle due west for a short distance inland, until it meets Boarhills. There are two small trees – really more shrubs – that demonstrate just how strong the wind here can be, and very little other vegetation beyond grass and low brush. Beyond is yet another gorgeous stretch of Fife coastline, the long shelves of rock broken up by small sandy coves, distant trees and grassy fields that stretch from the coast up toward the main road, just over the knoll. Ahead, in the far distance, I could just make out the lump that is Balmullo Law.

For a short time, the path runs very close to a new barbed wire fence that looks lethal, so be careful if you are busy looking at the view. The path is also quite uneven here, narrow with plenty of places for a foot to slip or turn if you are not paying attention to your feet. Sprays of small yellow and purple flowers break up the grass, and the sky was still blue though the large stretches of clouds were rolling in from the west. Fortunately, while they blocked the sun a bit, they did not seem threatening.

Beyond Babbet Ness, I could see the distant unmistakable shape of an abandoned building, a croft or house of some kind. This turned out to be at a spot known as Johnnie Bay, a sandy inlet with what must have been a boat ramp leading from the ruined building down to the water. It’s a charming spot, though there are strict signs on both sides to keep out of the structure as it is not safe.

By this point in the walk – as you can doubtless see in the pictures – the sun was behind a cloud more often than not, and I was able to take off my sunglasses, which I prefer. Not far beyond the house I could see a sign and a stone wall, from which I was distracted temporarily by what I was relatively certain was a gunshot – a rifle of some kind. It could have been something else, as rifle shots are not common, but it stayed in my mind as I approached the signpost.

This spot allows you to make a choice, directing you up a farm track to the main road only .5 miles away, or to Boarhills, 1.5 miles away. I knew from looking at the map that the spot where the farm track emerged was a tricky one: on a blind corner, and potentially nowhere for the other half to pick me up. Fortunately, a happy cocker spaniel trotted towards me from the other direction, and so I paused to give it a good ear rub before pushing on towards Boarhills. The path here follows the edge of an estate wall, and is a wider track that is easy to follow.

In a short distance of only a few minutes’ walking, the path begins to turn inland, where Kenly Water flows out of the farmland to meet the sea. Ahead is the edge of the tree line which surrounds the burn, and there is a hint of roofs and fences indicating homes. The walk through the trees is very pleasant, a lush green tunnel with ivy-covered trunks and the water trickling along beside.

Soon, the trail splits with a farm track to the left and the coastal path marker directing walkers down a smaller trail to the right, descending again into the den. It reminded me very much of Dunino Den, though this makes sense as they are only miles apart; in Scotland, a den is a narrow valley or ravine, usually wooded, with a river or burn running through. They tend to be extremely beautiful and peaceful, and this one was no different. The path winds closer to and then away from the water, sometimes a bit higher on the bank and sometimes lower down, and on Saturday morning was serene, the only noises being the ducks, the birds, the water rushing, and my footsteps.

The burn – Kenly Water – varies between tumbling over rocks and pieces of log and pooling in deeper areas where it slows for a time and allows for reflection. And ducks.

At several points, a joining rivulet requires a stone bridge to cross, in particular just before the path meets another half-ruined house. This one is covered in ivy, like something out of a fairy tale, though there are again strict signs warning against entry.

About a mile on, there is a jog away from the burn and up beside a field – it was a touch buggy, as standard in spring, but offered another view down towards the woods. Soon after this, the path turns into the trees again and passes over a metal bridge that is most definitely a single file affair.

Beyond the bridge is a well-kept old farm with rambling roses growing along the barn, and an old stone farmhouse that seemed to be basking in the morning sun, which had by this time emerged again from cloud.

Just after passing the farmhouse, the path joins a private road that is very narrow and quiet, but not completely unused – it is the access road for the farm, and a post van came zooming along it quite quickly. That said, it is unlikely to be busy as it is marked no access to unauthorised vehicles.

From here the path follows this road, winding up away from the farm and climbing a hill between two fields. The view here was excellent, looking back at the main road through this part of Fife and towards the village. But, I was definitely hitting the end of my endurance, and sometimes knowing the end is close makes it harder.

I finished my walk at a rather random spot, where the private road turns towards the village and the coastal path continues. I have every intention of picking it up here again this weekend, as the next portion of the walk is relatively short and should be easier to manage. From this point to the ‘main’ road through Boarhills was just under half a mile, and there I was collected by the other half as I had just missed a bus.

The access to the coastal path was the biggest challenge for this section, as both ends required at least a mile of extra walking that was not ‘official’. But, like the section from Crail to Cambo, it is a beautiful stretch of coastline with golf course, beach, wooded den and more. I am so happy to be back on track and wish I were not disappearing for most of June!

But I am sure I will have other adventures to share about that trip, in due course.
Brougham Castle, Cumbria

May 18th, 2026

The last month has been an absolute whirlwind of travel, work, sneezing (due to allergies or a cold I am still not certain), trying to adjust to whatever time zone I am in, and resting up to be ready and raring to go in June. I’m still working on that last one…life and work get in the way.

Last weekend though, we finally managed to check one big task off the list: to get a car, which we had been without since our old one failed its MOT in February – for those in the US, this is the annual check-up for road readiness here in the UK. The car chosen by the other half was located in England – as most good options are – and so he promised that if I came with him, we could make a weekend of it and see a castle on the way back.

I am never too tired to see a castle (though I came close). It was the first one I had visited in some time and I was very excited – there were plenty of options nearby, northern England being rife with castles, and after a bit of researching I selected Brougham Castle. It seemed both well-placed not too far from the motorway, and in a good state of repair (all relative of course). I was not disappointed.

Brougham is in Cumbria, about half an hour south of the Scottish border and on the edge of the Lake District. It is just outside the town of Penrith, and so easily accessible from the M6 (the main road that runs south to north, the UK’s answer to route 95 in the US)

History of Brougham Castle

Brougham (pronounced ‘Broom’, for the record) was constructed at the north end of an enclosure of the Roman fort of Brocavum, or ‘heathery place’. A community grew up to support the fort, and it remained in use until the end of the Roman period. The castle, built on the ruins, used materials from the fort; in one of the stairwells, you can clearly identify a tombstone with Latin carvings. The site itself was first acquired in or around 1214 by Robert de Vieuxpont, Lord of Westmorland, one of the last remaining trusted supporters of the often-maligned King John (not objecting to the maligning of John, for the record). Identified as a good spot for a fortification, the aim was to assist with the defence of the north against the Scots, and other northern barons less friendly to the ruling monarch.

Under Vieuxpont, the castle consisted of the main keep and some service buildings, surrounded by a timber wall that was replaced with stone in around 1300. This view is of the keep and gatehouse, from within the courtyard.

The top story of the keep, obvious in its slightly different style, was constructed towards the end of the 1290s, at least partly in response to the Scottish Wars of Independence and impending danger. The decorated corbels, which I managed to capture on my camera, helped to support the third floor oratory.

By this time, the castle was in the hands of the Clifford family, who would expand over the years, adding the new hall, chapel, and buildings along the south curtain wall. The structure was damaged significantly by the Scots in 1388, and played a role in the Wars of the Roses, with the Lancastrian Cliffords using it as a stronghold in the north against the Yorkist Neville family.

As the years passed the castle gradually deteriorated, with some family choosing to restore its use for a short period, but like many castles it deteriorated and was considered too expensive to be maintained. Cattle were living in the gatehouse in the 1850s, and visitors complained that the castle was inaccessible and partly ruined. Interestingly, graffiti from those tourists of the 19th century – and those since – survives in carvings in the plaster of one tower.

In 1928, the castle came into the guardianship of the Ministry of Works, a precursor to English Heritage.

Our visit

We arrived at Brougham after a short drive up the M6 and discovered that parking is rather haphazard, along a farm access road near the main entrance. I might imagine that at busier times of year, it could be difficult to find a spot. Fortunately, we found a good location out of the way, and while the other half got himself a drink, I scampered up to the bridge across the River Eamont, a spectacular spot for a view (see the post cover, as well as the picture at the very end).

My first photos taken, we continued into the house that acted as the shop for the castle; there were some nice touristy items, a clean bathroom, and a few snacks including ice cream for sale. The kind woman behind the desk trusted me when I said I was a member of Historic Scotland – though I could not find my card – and provided us entry to the castle for free, as I gather English Heritage honours that membership. It makes sense, but was also nice to experience. Between the house and the castle, a field of sheep grazed quite unbothered by the visitors.

We were one of perhaps three or four groups of visitors, and we took a few moments to read the display about the history of the castle, both Roman and Medieval. I was too excited to read much though, and instead pushed forward along to the main entrance, through the gatehouse, which is made of three connected elements, easier to see from inside than out.

Passing through the gatehouses, one enters the courtyard, where there are remnants of outbuildings along one side, a distant tower in the far corner, and a jumble of additional constructions along the south and east walls. We started at the far tower, the Tower of League, which was built around 1300 to project beyond the walls and assist in defence, allowing for fighters within to look back along the curtain wall. This tower is where the above plaster inscriptions could be found.

Moving around the castle walls counter-clockwise, we came to the ruins of a sequence of rooms used by most residents of the castle, in particular the garrison. There is a lodging block, a dining area, and a chapel, evident on a higher floor from its carvings. I love looking up the walls of a castle and trying to identify where floors would have been, and trying to work out what was a window, perhaps a door, a floor support, or a fireplace.

All of the buildings here were overrun by small purple flowers, growing between the stones or on outcroppings – I found myself slightly obsessed by these flowers, and captured them many times.

Along the south wall was also a doorway out – whether an intended entrance or not I was not certain, but it could possibly have been a postern gate of some kind – which led to the grassy ditch that surrounds the castle, and provided a great view back towards the walls.

After exploring the various rooms and ruins, there was one more important part of the visit in which to partake – climbing the keep to see the view.

We had been warned several times that it was a difficult climb, steep and narrow, and indeed the staircase did not provide space for more than one person to climb or descend. But, the stairs were not as worn as I have seen, there was a sturdy railing and plenty of places along the way to duck out of the stairs into a short hall or alcove, allowing others to pass.

In short, I’ve climbed worse. St Rule’s Tower in St Andrews being one.

And the view was spectacular, whether you looked inside or outside of the castle. Inside, you could look up and down the keep and identify where all the different floors were, the higher ones boasting more carving and showing the newer construction. The top floor of the castle has been made safe enough that you can walk most of the way around the walls, sometimes inside the stone passages and sometimes on bridges secured into the stonework.

There were several places both as I climbed and as we explored the top level where I could peer out through a window or arrow loop – excellent on a sunny day. One of the views here is actually the passage I took out of the castle to see the walls, as mentioned above. I loved being able to see the countryside through these unusual shapes.

The strategic location of the castle is perhaps most clearly emphasized by this view from the top floor.

Fields stretch in each direction, some with sheep and crops, and visibility goes on for miles. The outlines of the castle buildings themselves are even more clear from above, and you get a real sense of the power of the structure, and how self-sustaining it would be. In the other direction, you look down at the river and the bridge, with a 360° view of anyone approaching the castle. We stood up here for some time, enjoying the sun and the gorgeous vista, exploring the passages and nooks and crannies of the structure.

Finally though, we did need to return to our car and get going on the drive home – we hoped no more than 4 hours. The day was beginning to change, with more clouds blocking the sun than when we first arrived, a pattern that would continue as we drove north. My final few shots were these, looking at the east wall of the castle and then looking back at the gatehouse as we walked away.

I feel the other half would not forgive me for not admitting that I trod in sheep droppings as I walked, so busy was I with the view – but fortunately they wiped off before we returned to the car.

For castle lovers, Brougham is an excellent day out. The history is extensive, with evidence of the building taking place across the centuries of the high Middle Ages, and clear examples of evolving styles. The castle was defensive, domestic, and was an imposing presence in the landscape – a symbol of power for those who lived there. The castle boasts carvings and decorations galore, a relatively intact keep that can be climbed, and plenty of nooks and crannies to explore both for adults and children. The surrounding countryside is lovely, with a small wooded park nearby and fields of sheep and oilseed stretching towards the south.

I highly recommend a visit if you are in the area, or even if you are just driving up the M6 and need a short detour – it is less than 10 minutes from the highway. And…look at this view!
Steer Swamp and Gingerbread Hill circuit – Marblehead

Mar 31st, 2026

During my last trip home, I was fortunate enough to experience decent weather, and I had just enough time each day to go out for a walk. I revisited many of my old haunts and walking routes, and was pleased to find many of them not hugely altered.

Steer Swamp was a popular walk location for Mum and I and the dog many years past, as it offers a nice woodland area not too far from where we lived, and enough winding trails that the dog got some exercise. Plus, she was able to wander freely and sniff to her heart’s content (would not let her off the lead now, but that was the 90s). In the autumn it offered bittersweet for cutting to decorate a small wreath, and in the spring and summer was sheltered from the sun. In the winter, as you will see below, it is a touch on the stark side, but on a sunny day even mostly-dead trees and rocks are lovely.

Another advantage to Steer Swamp (or disadvantage, perhaps) is that there are plenty of criss-crossing paths and varied places to enter the conservation area, so it is easy to access. Or, to get lost. Though the Marblehead Conservancy site has a detailed map, which I only found later.

I chose to enter at Norman Street just around the corner from Redd’s Pond, which is a convenient starting point for those not familiar with Marblehead.

As you can see, there is a clear marker here, designating the area as the Joseph Brown Conservation Area. As I have discussed in other posts, the names here have changed in the last 20 years, moving away (very appropriately) from the terms used since Joe’s lifetime in the late 1700s. The pond still seems to be known primarily as ‘Black Joe’s Pond’, and the Tavern by the same name, though anyone digging into Marblehead history will find plenty of issues with both. The Marblehead Museum has a fantastic page on Joe and his wife, Lucretia, should anyone be curious about the history.

The path heads straight away from the road, skirting around a muddy area before heading up the side of a rise on a rocky, uneven path. My sneakers were in danger of becoming a bit sodden and muddy, but they were the only shoes I had with me.

As you move further into the forest, houses are still visible – and audible – through the trees, and the path rises and falls over hillocks with a few side-trails to other entrances. I kept moving, relatively straight away from the road as best I could, with a few glimpses through the branches of the pond to the right. Finally, after only a few minutes, there are several off-shoots leading to the right, and you can cut over to the edge of the pond, which on the day I visited still boasted a coating of slushy ice. Redd’s Pond, very close by, had lost its ice completely, and it was interesting to see how a small change in geography could alter it. Redd’s Pond is a touch lower, open (not surrounded by trees), and I think a touch shallower though I’m not certain on that.

The view across the water towards the red of Joe’s Tavern is a stunning one.

Once you have had your fill of the view, continue back towards the path, and in a short time you will reach a junction. I chose to go left here, though I think right would have eventually circled around to the same place. My direction took me quite quickly down a steep hill.

By the time I reached the bottom, the road noise was gone and though homes were still visible in glimpses through the trees, it began to feel a lot more like a woodland. In fact, this walk took me quickly back to all winter walks I had taken in New England – the same smells, sights, muddy patches and enormous boulders that rise from the forest floor seemingly randomly.

I crossed a small creek on some stepping stones, and continued straight through an almost bower of winter trees, bending over the path so that in the summer I imagine it is a tunnel. By this point, the woods were blocking most of the day’s bitter wind, and so the walk was quite pleasant, just warmed by the sun. The ground was a touch squishier than I might have liked, but most of the worst bits included rocks to cross.

In perhaps ten minutes, I reached a five-way junction, with paths stretching out in all directions. I decided to follow a loop and not turn back on myself, thereby adding in a visit to Grace Oliver’s Beach. I hadn’t really started the walk with a plan, rather it evolved as I walked, which was quite nice. I was not certain at the time how long the loop would take, but I figured it could not be too long – the conservation area here is not particularly large.

Soon after selecting my route, I crossed a lovely wooden bridge bathed in sunlight, though the ground beyond was still covered with an icy coating of snow. This required a bit of careful negotiation, particularly in sneakers, but I managed to get across while passing another walker who looked at me strangely – he was wearing proper boots. I slipped and slid a few times but never fell, so I call it a win.

After crossing this bridge, I soon came across another turn, and this one I knew should be the start of the loop around to the right – I was in theory making a circuit around the marshiest bit of Flag Pond. In very little time, the houses ahead were again visible, so the illusion of being deep in the forest vanished. But, the walk was still more than pleasant, crossing a small brook and around a hillock, following the trail. There were some loud voices carrying through the trees – dog walkers I think – that I hoped would not be following me, but with luck they turned the way I had come, and the quiet returned. It was enormously peaceful, with the occasional birdsong or trees rustling. The ground under foot was layered with oak leaves and pine needles, meaning my steps were quiet, and the scents of fresh cold woods were like a time machine back to my childhood. They say scent is one of the most evocative triggers for memory, and this was most definitely one of those occasions. (Another is any time I set foot outside Haymarket Station in Edinburgh and catch the nearby distillery’s yeasty scent. I inevitably freeze while being carried back to my university years)

As I have mentioned, woods in the winter were my playground as a child – these woods, those in New Hampshire, the Audubon land in Ipswich were we went on many winter outings – all make me want immediately to scale a rock face to establish a fort, or create a lean-to against fallen logs.

I could happily have walked for much longer in this flashback, but in relatively little time it becomes evident that the residential area is springing up quickly at the edge of the conservation land. More houses appeared through the trees, and the road noise began to invade once again – infrequent though it was.

Here, the path takes walkers directly to the junction with Beacon Street as it winds around the wild area, but there is really nowhere at the edge of the street to walk safely. With luck, there is also an option to cut down to the right along a path set back slightly from the road – there are good views here looking over the swamp lands, which I had circled around. There were plenty of paths to take me back the way I had come, but I had already decided I wanted to walk up Gingerbread Hill.

In little time, I emerged on Beacon Street but a bit closer to the beach, and hurried along the edge of the road which is, like many Scottish roads, not really wide enough for two cars to pass. I am not sure why I had never noticed the small creek running at the side of the road, which empties onto the beach, but it also separates the main road from the land beyond (Peach’s Point) which seems quite appropriate.

Fortunately this part of the road is not particularly busy, as there is also really nowhere to walk, so I was pleased to be able to quickly reach the wider road that runs along the beach and turns up to enter Peach’s Point. This area, identified by brick columns that mark the entrance, is a private grouping of homes, most of which are enormous and beautiful. Originally a Native American (Naumkeag tribe) summer camp, it was settled by one of Marblehead’s early families, the Peaches, and eventually became an almost mini version of the neck, in that large summer residences were built for wealthy families.

view from the road of Dolliber;s Cove and the houses on Peach’s Point

Peach’s Point creates one side of Dolliber’s Cove, with the rest created by the public beach named after Grace Oliver, a 19th century writer and women’s rights advocate who lived nearby.

Because of our close access to Gas House beach, I rarely swam here as a child, though it is arguably a more pleasant beach, with a bit more sand and less seaweed. Like Gas House though, it is not particularly large, with a plot of land jutting out into the water here upon which is built a beautiful old house – Grace Oliver House – with a dock and long drive.

I will fully admit to always coveting this house, or at least a visit to it – though my New Englander brain also imagines in must be damaged by storms. Unless of course it is protected, which it must be, by Brown’s Island (as I knew it), which is accessible only at the lowest tide, and sits just off-shore. The right-hand photo above shows it best. Apparently this island was originally owned by Edward Diamond, a local man who was credited with mystical powers and was often seen on Old Burial Hill, known as a wizard (my friends and I were certain he haunted my house, and were obsessed with trying to see his ghost on the hill). The island was re-named Crowninshield Island in the early 1900s, apparently, though I have always heard it referred to as Brown’s.

Just opposite the driveway for Grace Oliver’s House is the easily-missed turn up Gingerbread Hill, an old road that – of course – winds its way up a hill to Black Joe’s Pond and Tavern, before cutting back down to Norman Street. It’s a relatively short walk, but passes some beautiful old homes. There are a few places where you can see through to the pond, and work out which clump of trees you may have been hiding in to look this way. There is also a footpath down the hill to the street, but I chose to stay on the pavement which – as you can see – is narrow. While cars are not regular, walkers should be aware that they may not be visible with the foliage and twisting road.

the late-17th century tavern known as Black Joe’s

Descending onto Norman Street, I found myself only a few hundred feet from the entrance to the Conservation land where I started – a loop of just under two miles. Not particularly strenuous, this is a lovely loop that both allows for some woodland walking but also some real Marblehead history and passes some of the older neighbourhoods. Plus, if inspired, you can continue your walk around nearby Redd’s Pond and up through Old Burial Hill. This is one of my favourite things about Marblehead – there are so many loops you can take, all a bit different, and all showing you a new part of town or a new piece of history you may not have known about.

To finish with, a view of Redd’s Pond and the loop I took, screen captured from Footpath, the app I use to plan walks.

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Photos on a theme: reflections

Mar 24th, 2026

It has been a shockingly long time since I have managed to sit down and focus on a blog post. What can I say? Life got in the way – I’ve been back and forth to the US twice in two months, run a conference at work, and been inundated with life admin that needed to be done. All of this and jet lag meant that since finding time in my hotel room to write about my visit to Crystal Cove, I have really struggled to find the motivation, time and energy to be creative. But, while work continues to be busy and my travel schedule is no less intense, I had to make some time to write. I have never gone this long without posting before, I don’t think, and it feels wrong.

I started pulling the basis of this post together some time ago, when I was submitting pictures for a contest and realised just now many shots I have of reflections. So many hint at this theme, some more effectively than others, but it’s a motif I have always leaned towards. Perhaps because a reflection is so often the embodiment of a moment of calm – an early morning, evening, quiet time when the world is still for just a short second. And because water has a magical way of capturing what is happening in the world and giving it back to you in an image sometimes identical, but often slightly altered.

Here are some shots that I love, and wished to share.

Themes

This series focusses specifically on bird reflections, taken across a variety of locations including West Sands in St Andrews, the Tay River, Loch Leven near Ballachulish, and the Eden Estuary.

Another series, this time on bridges. I have always loved photographing bridges, not in the least due to their symmetry. These bridges include the Ballachulish Bridge, Kenmore Bridge, Guardbridge, Wade’s Bridge in Aberfeldy, and the Historic River Bridge in York.

Tayport

For the relatively short time we lived in Tayport, I was able to really take advantage of the seaside location to capture reflections at all times of day. The harbour was my favourite spot, as you can see – sunrise, sunset and even with a full moon.

St Andrews

The many years I have spent in St Andrews have allowed for plenty of reflections, be it harbour, castle, sunrise, or Craigtoun Park.

St Salvator’s Quad, in the centre of town, was renovated some years ago to include these beautiful slabs of stone that reflect perfectly in the rain (and can be treacherously slippery when wet). Many early morning walks around town enabled these views.

I have said it before, that St Andrews is one of the most photogenic places I know, and the groupings below show just how stunningly beautiful it can be – and how well the clouds and distinctive skyline reflect on the surrounding beaches. West Sands in particular stretching out for miles and – at low tide – what feels like miles wide provides some of the most amazing reflections I have ever captured.

Guardbridge

Morning walks along the Eden Estuary have provided spectacular views, in particular this one taken from the University’s Eden Campus.

The view from the old bridge in Guardbridge is one of my favourites, allowing the sunset or blue sky to reflect off the water at high tide. I have literally 100s of this view – there are more below.

In fact, there were so many of Guardbridge that I could not narrow them down any further than this massive grouping. Living here through the pandemic years meant a daily walk was essential, and capturing the glory of the Eden was inevitable, at all times of day. Even the old mill, which is not particularly attractive but adds something to the scenery.

Scottish Highlands

As anyone who has read my blog thus far is aware, the Highlands (or anything north of Perth really) is an almost sacred area for me. The stunning serene beauty that can be found in the lochs and mountains is almost unmatched in my experience.

The lochs in particular provide ideal opportunities for capturing reflections, at those rare times when the wind dies down and everything is calm and still.

To start with, Loch Katrine, and the almost mirror image of fluffy clouds and blue sky.

These two collections are some of my favourite loch pictures, and include: the view off Spean Bridge (not a loch, but gloriously still), Loch Tay at several points, Loch Linnhe from the Ballachulish bridge, Loch Duich not far from Eilean Donan castle, and the loch at Ballachulish quarry, reflecting the snow-capped Sgorr Dhearg.

These views were captured from Ballachulish bridge, and from across the River Tay looking back at the Kenmore Hotel. Only moments later, the river in the below shot was caught by the wind, and the reflection erased. For the top shot, the water was still for close to thirty minutes, early in the morning before the breeze picked up or the tide shifted.

Last but not least, a vague reflection of the Cuillin Hills just above Sligachan Old Bridge, Skye.

Marblehead

Finally, I have been lucky enough to spend a decent amount of time in my home town in the last year or so – more than I have for more than a decade – and I have captured what I consider to be some lovely views of my favourite places in town.

Starting of course with Redd’s Pond and Old Burial Hill, which I have written about at length. This was a cold morning with the ice just hanging beneath a layer of water on the pond.

Two more shots taken on the same day as the one above, I felt I had to include them anyway, as one captured the monument to sailors of the town. The moonrise was a perfect calm evening last November, and I waited by the harbour for close to an hour for the moon to rise above the clouds.

More Redd’s Pond, but how could I resist? One in late winter, the other in mid-winter at sunrise, on a magical morning that a wrote a whole post about. The reflections here are hazy rather than crisp, but equally lovely.

And last but not least, a picture taken on New Year’s Eve 2025, when I went down to the Marblehead Lobster Company (as it was) to pick up a special dinner for my mother. I and a few other photographers had noticed the not-quite-full moon and the still water that reflected the changing colours in the sky. It was incredibly quiet with only a gentle lap of waves on the shore, and no birds to disturb the surface.

Do you have a favourite one of the images I’ve shared? Let me know, I would love to hear your feedback! I hope you have enjoyed this short trip into a thematic project that has mirrored several others in recent past such as cloudy skies, or sunrise/sunset. I hope to get back to the Coastal Path soon, or at least visit a castle! I’ve also got a few good ideas for posts that I developed while walking around Marblehead this last week – keep an eye out!

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Crystal Cove, California coastal walk

Feb 17th, 2026

Is that enough alliteration for you?

Work has taken me back to southern California this month, and after a week of travel starting in Pasadena, heading out to Riverside and then finally down to Santa Ana, I was able to settle into one place for the rest of my time here. And so lucky I am, that the place is Orange County!

On Valentine’s Day – not because it was, but because it was a lovely day and my most likely day of rest during this trip – I decided to explore a new part of the coast. Recent rainfall meant that I could not hike in the hills as I hoped and so I did some investigation and eventually decide upon a parking spot along the coast, ten or so minutes from Laguna Beach, which I had so enjoyed visiting last year.

Fortunately the drive was only about 20 minutes, and so I got going relatively early in the day and was happy to find that there were plenty of spots available. The parking is run by the state, and so was even more pricey than my visit to Laguna Beach – $15, though this was for a day pass. The pay system is a very simple QR code scan and pay – much better than the cash boxes I’ve seen elsewhere (*cough* New England).

And, after all, this is Orange County.

My first dilemma, after payment, was which way to go. My breath had been stolen while I drove by the day before by the stunning Abalone Point, but I was really curious to explore the area that was called ‘Historic’ Crystal Cove, which popped up top of my Google for short walks in Orange County. So, after a touch of meandering, I found myself at the top of the cliffs with a long flight of steps before me, leading down to the beach. The view behind me was hazy as it looked directly into the sun, but ahead of me was the stunning blue water and sky I had come to expect from this area.

I imagine that we were at about mid-tide, perhaps on the high side, but there was plenty of firm wet sand to walk on, and the waves were constant but not too threatening. As always, I struggled against the urge to just sit and record the crashing surf, the stunning colours and shapes, the dramatic splash when a bigger wave hit the rocks.

I did pause briefly when I met a few very brave sea birds, who were so unbothered by me that I could get quite close.

Like in parts of Fife, the sandy beach was broken in places by impressive rock formations, slicing upwards.

The towering cliffs above the beach were dotted with green but also showed layers of rock and sand – a geologist’s dream, I am sure. As I approached the Crystal Cove area, there was a larger formation of rocks where a few fishermen had parked themselves, accompanied by always-bold gulls. The sun had finally risen far enough that a picture back the way I had come was a touch clearer.

I did not really know what to expect of Crystal Cove, and as I approached it reminded me both of a Caribbean pirate’s lair and a coastal village on Cape Cod. The more I explored, the more the houses reminded me of lakeside ‘cottages’ built on Lake Sunapee in New Hampshire: thin wood, no insulation, designed as a shelter in warm and comfortable weather. Upon reading more, I learned that the Crystal Cove Historic District is a federally listed gathering of 46 vintage coastal cottages built in the 1930s and 40s. One of the last remaining examples of early 20th century coastal development, it has been preserved and the cottages transformed into rental properties. They are nestled around Los Trancos Creek, which is what made me think of the pirate hideout – aren’t there always creeks emptying into the ocean in a lair?

There is a boardwalk in front of the line of houses, so I walked all the way to the end and then back again, enjoying the haphazard, ramshackle nature of some of the cottages. Most were neat, simple constructions with plenty of window and balcony space, but one or two looked like a child had constructed them out of blocks – dormers, gables, windows, extra rooms tacked on in random places. These were, of course, my favourite (in particular the mint green one visible in the collage below).

I walked past the Beachcomber restaurant, which seemed to be very busy, and found a clean public restroom just over the pedestrian bridge. From here, my route took me up a flight of steps back to the top of the cliff, where I could look down over the cove and out to sea.

As I moved away from the cluster of houses and past the very busy Shake Shack (this is when I recalled that it was Valentine’s Day, as they had all sorts of offers on), I realised that the cliff-top walk was not entirely dissimilar to parts of the Fife Coastal Path. The trail was paved and well-used by joggers and walkers, and the scrub-like flora dropped abruptly away to a view of the open sea.

really, this could almost be Fife

In time I reached the edge of the parking lot, but I really wanted to explore the other direction so I pushed on, passing the useful map you can see at the start of this post. There was also another clean restroom and a spot to fill up your water bottle.

Beyond this hut was another car park, but finally at the end I reached a branch in the path. One direction led to a viewpoint over Muddy Canyon, where there were several benches to enjoy the view.

The other direction led to this winding downward ramp – quite steep and a bit slippery with sand. This portion of the path hugs the edge of the canyon, which has been sliced into the cliff by a creek down below. I began to question whether this was a good idea – I really did not want to climb back up the ramp. But, when I reached the bottom, I was greeted by a beautiful fresh breeze, a touch cool and the type that refreshes and rejuvenates. Perhaps it is my childhood by the sea, but I find few things smell better than this type of breeze, pinching your nostrils with a touch of salt.

Immediately to my left was a pond where the creek backed up a bit before emptying into the ocean. Fortunately, the outflow was narrow enough at one spot to leap over, and I managed to do so without falling or injuring myself. The seagulls were watching closely.

On the far side of the creek, the beach stretches out towards a headland, which is the edge of the town of Laguna Beach (I think). This part of the coast was quieter, so I walked along for a while, enjoying the dramatic cliffs and the wind. I considered a few times how far I wanted to walk, and realised in the end that I was setting myself up for a good long hike if I kept going. So, I turned around and leapt over the creek again. It then occurred to me that I did not need to go back up the ramp – my car was quite a bit further along and there was a set of steps between it and me. So, I stayed down on the beach for a bit longer before finding myself at the bottom of the stairs I had descended at the start of my walk.

They were a touch more daunting looking up than down. That said, they were mostly quite shallow so not too strenuous, and they switched back a few times, allowing for a pause and quick look at the view while I caught my breath.

Once back at the top-of-cliff level, I found it to be a relatively short walk back to the car – about five minutes. Along the way I was able to capture a picture of hills I might have been hiking in, as well as this wee ground squirrel who posed very kindly for me. Or possibly froze in fear. Either way, he stayed still for quite some time. While I was heading home, increasing numbers of other people were appearing, particularly couples clearly visiting the beach for a Valentine’s Day picnic. I certainly saw more red mylar balloons that one might expect on a coastal walk, and girls slightly awkwardly clutching bouquets while they headed toward the sand.

In all my hike ended up being about 4 miles with two relatively steep climbs to get the blood pumping a bit. As seems to be the case with much of this area, the beach was stunning and I enjoyed exploring another new spot. The weather has tracked me from Scotland now, as this was the last bright sunny day, and rain has closed in on LA. It looks like I am not likely to get a chance to try another walk on this trip. Perhaps next time!

One last side note about adventuring in this part of Orange County: if you get a chance, stop in at a Pavilions supermarket. The fruit is phenomenal, the packaged salads and breads are delicious and in all it probably comes in around the same cost as a Whole Foods. A really pleasant shopping experience. I am a big fan.

Curious about my last trip to the area? Check out my post on Laguna Beach!
Stormy Skies: capturing dramatic weather in Scotland and beyond

Jan 30th, 2026

After a summer of almost unprecedented beauty, day after day of blue sky and warm temperatures, Scotland is getting its karmic retribution in January. We have had steadily wet, grey, cold, windy weather for most of this month. Some days are colder than others, some windier, and some have been icy, but almost all have been dreary, and while Scotland of course has its reputation for weather, this is extreme. Extremely bad.

But, sometimes grey weather can lead to a silver lining, of sorts – in fact, I have a real affection for storms, for big roiling clouds that turn all sorts of blues and yellows and greys and blacks as bad weather approaches. (Not that we are getting those now, which is part of the problem, just endless cloud with no variation). So, in honour of this truly unpleasant January, I thought it might be worth pulling together some of my favourite stormy sky pictures from over the years – both with dramatic clouds and the grey skies that create atmosphere, particularly here in Scotland.

I feel I should observe that when I went through my pictures to select some for this post, I ended up with more than 90 that I liked – the ones I include here are a choice selection. I feel this indicates both Scotland’s prevalence for overcast (perpetuating the stereotype), but more my own passion for stormy skies, and the increased likelihood that I will scurry out the door with my phone or camera to catch a dark sky.

Guardbridge

It seemed most appropriate to start closer to home, with two of the views I photograph most often – the bridge at the north end of Guardbridge, and the view across the Eden Estuary towards St Andrews.

The bridge picture was taken in the spring, with roiling clouds twisting and turning in light that was at times black, at times yellow. Similarly, the light in the view over the Eden is a mixture of silvery grey and yellow, though it was taken in the depth of winter. In fact, it was February 2021, the iciest month we have had in some years, and deep in the heart of the pandemic lockdown. My daily walk was my lifeline to nature, to the outside world, and it was so poignant to look across to the town where I should have been working and spending most of my time.

Tayport

As I have mentioned before, we spent the earliest months of the covid pandemic living in Tayport, and our view over the Tay provided the opportunity to watch some truly epic storms.

The group below includes a yellow-orange storm light that I just loved and the sunny blue with the storm clouds drifting away towards the ocean. The last of the three is the one I had at least 20 versions of: a purple-black cloud over the far shore, topped by fluffy white. Visually stunning and fascinating to watch.

The two below were taken on the same day, a few minutes apart, and remain two of my favourite storm pictures. The first because you can still see the benevolent blue sky above the white and then purple clouds, and the second for its view out to sea and how lonely and small the Larick Beacon looks against the dark.

St Andrews and East Neuk

Living and working right on the coast allows for some of the best stormy sky pictures, and while St Andrews is often considered a bubble with its own weather, it does not escape dramatic clouds.

The castle picture here was taken in February 2018, and the distant clouds are remnants of the first wave of the Beast from the East, an epic snow storm that shut Scotland down for several days. I managed to get into work on the Wednesday and pick up a laptop, but had to leave early to get home before the bus service stopped. The cathedral ruin shot comes from May 2021, on one of my few days in the office as the University slowly re-opened, while the Market Street shot is just over a year later, with plenty of people happily wandering the town and hoping they do not get rained on.

My more recent walking efforts along the Fife Coastal Path have been fortunate enough to be mostly sunny, but a few dark and stormy days have been on the cards. My walk to Anstruther ended with me cowering under a bus shelter as the storm clouds opened, while a preparatory walk along West Sands was equally in danger of ending in rain.

Isle of SkyE

Dad and I were so lucky on one of our trips to Skye to be favoured with spectacular weather; the second visit was less fortunate, and we had a few good squalls come through to dampen our hiking.

I love the wide open fields of sheep you see on Skye, and I thought this view of a cloudy day was perhaps more appropriate than a sunny alternative. Likewise, the intermittent rain we experienced while attempting to climb the Old Man of Storr allowed for very atmospheric shots across the Skye coastline. Finally, while it is only just visible, if you zoom into the smaller grassy picture, you will spot evidence of a Highland native peeking over the hill.

HighLands and Perthshire

I fight hard both in my posts and in my work to stifle the stories that Scotland is a wet, cold, rainy place. Or at least, that it is ALWAYS wet, cold and rainy. That said, Fort William is on the rainier west coast, and the winter months do bring in a fair amount of doom and gloom.

I found this picture of Loch Faskally in Pitlochry while searching for reflection shots (a future post, no doubt) but fell in love both with the clarity of the reflection and the wispy clouds melting into the treeline.

The further north you go, the more dramatic the pictures. These two were taken of and from (respectively) the Nevis Range; one on a wintry afternoon and one on an otherwise sunny day, where the clouds closed in higher up. The view of Nevis Range with snow and half in the clouds was partly our inspiration for hoping to retire up north.

On the same day as the first picture above was taken, we ventured out along the A830 to Glenfinnan, seeing as we could not really go hiking. While I would have loved to capture the monument, viaduct and views of Loch Shiel in sunlight (and did several years later), the cloaking mist and rain were again quite atmospheric. One can just imagine ships emerging from the haze, heading for the end of the loch, where the monument now stands – filled with huddling, cold soldiers ready for a fight.

And hey, Glenfinnan Viaduct looks pretty incredible in any weather.

Finally, there is one spot that is even more evocative in the clouds, and that is Culloden Moor, and the monuments to the clansmen who died there in 1746. I visited some years back with Mum, and there is no question that the emotions are heightened on a day like this.

Puerto Rico and the South

The Caribbean is known far more for its sunny weather than for its storms, but no one living there would deny that the heat of the ocean creates for some amazingly awful weather. The pictures below include one dark cloud rolling over the Vieques sound, and then two beach pictures that were taken shortly before I was required to hide (mostly fruitlessly) beneath some trees during a downpour of rain.

In fact, some of the heaviest rainstorms I have experienced have not been in Scotland, but instead in Puerto Rico and in Florida. On my most recent trip to Orlando, I was driving on the highway in a storm so powerful it almost blinded me – not something I wish to experience again.

This shot was taken ten minutes before an intense Florida storm, and I love how innocuous the puffy white clouds look. But how ominous they actually are.

What these cotton-like towers really mean is run for cover.

My love for thunderstorms comes I am sure from summers on the boat, watching storms pass by under the knowledge – assured by my father – that other boats would be hit before us. We spent more than a few summer evenings huddled just under an awning, watching storms race across Marblehead harbour or the lake in Canada.

Approaching storms

In fact, sometimes the most exhilarating storms are the ones you have been able to see coming from a distance. I find that anticipation, that slow transition from a sunny day to an ever dark one, fascinating. The wind often picks up, and you can smell the rain coming even before it hits you. So here are a few of my favourite distant rain pictures, including Fife farmland, a Puerto Rican mountain, the Beast from the East over St Andrews Bay, and a stunning pink sunset rainstorm.

Monuments under clouds

To wrap up this post of a love story to cloudy skies, I thought it would be fun to include some views of castles and monuments. Like in the Highlands, a sunny sky might be most desired when capturing special locations, but a dramatic sky is the next best thing. It is certainly never boring.

Château Comtal, Carcassonne.

I got plenty in the sun, but this might be my favourite.

Paris, taken from Notre Dame in 2005. An overcast trip for the most part, but still beautiful.

Romsey Abbey, from the beer garden of a nearby pub. Happy to report that we did not get wet.

Balvaird Castle, on a windy day when the weather changed almost constantly. The clouds blew past at an alarming rate, though fortunately for me, as I stayed dry.

And finally, the pièce de résistance, a dramatic location in any weather, but even more moving with great dark clouds: Stonehenge. When we visited, we were allowed to wander up quite close to the monument, almost close enough to touch the stones. Like few other famous places, Stonehenge did not disappoint – it was mysterious, spiritual (and I am not a particularly spiritual person) and an incredible touchstone to thousands of years of history.

It sure would be nice to see it in the sun someday.