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.
