July 29 St. Abbs/Coldingham

A day of superlatives:  best walk of the bunch so far, best signage, physically hardest, worst weather, and I forget what else!  Andy, who has become my "personal driver" here in Dunbar took me back to the path after which he was going back to bed:

While waiting for Andy:

It was not dark as it seems to have been from the picture.  I don't understand why dark places, like a forest, come out light and light places, like looking over the sea, come out dark!  Pero bueno.

Sculpture of woman and children mourning husbands and fathers drowned in a disaster (of which there have been lots on the North Sea):

Cove, a sweet harbour:

I forget, exactly, why I took this one, but in case you want to know, yes, one did have to climb to the top....and many more like it!

Nuclear power plants are not the only blight on the landscape.  Not only do these caravan parks get prime real estate, they prevent the public from having access, often causing lengthy detours.  A pox on them, I say!

So delicious!

Lots of farmland:

When you cannot open the gate, it helps to be able to squeeze through!

This bit of adorableness:

has been replaced by this:

And dry stone  walls, when they tumble and crumble, are being replaced, too:

Most of the day the camera stayed put.  It rained.  It did not rain so hard that if a drop fell on the GPS it made the screen zoom in to an unreadable size, as big rain drops are wont to do, but it rained hard enough to have to wear full rain gear including poncho that doubles as a tent.  But the wind.  Ohmygod!  The wind was so strong that it blew me off the path.  It was that windy.  This went on for hours and there were many BIG hills to climb in the W I N D and the rain. One good thing is that my hair looks great from the rain only there is on one to say,"Gee, your hair looks great today!  Were you out for hours in the ferocious wind and rain?"  But nevertheless, I am happy to be sitting in a warm, dry B and B drinking tea and eating chocolate.

St Abbs Head deserves every bit as much respect as do the moors.  It demands all your energy to complete all its climbs.  You almost cannot believe it when a village actually emerges at its nether side.

Turns out that "suitable accommodation" was not to be had in St. Abbs (there is none), so it was another  generous mile and a half to Coldingham to reach refuge.  Ring bell.  No answer.  Ring again.  Phone.  No answer.  Call mobile number.  Paul picks up.  "Are you the walker?"  "Yes."  "Go 'round to the Bar B Que where you will find keys."  Do that.  Find keys.  And frankly, am happy to be alone when I take off poncho-that-doubles-as-a tent, rain jacket, other jacket, rain pants, gators, and wet boots.