Posts Tagged ‘Belhaven Bay’

Frosty by the river and in the garden

December 15, 2019

A week past Sunday, it was -5 degrees during the night in Dunbar – unusually cold for us. The result was a very hard frost everywhere and even the beach was partially white. We walked to Belhaven Pond which I had expected to be frozen over, but there was only ice at the edges. Further along, towards West Barns Bridge – featured previously on the blog here – the path was a streak of white. The photo below shows the path along to the bridge and – on the bike – you approach the path down a tricky slope, just behind this shot. This was not a day for a road bike on the path. You can see how white the grass is over the Biel Burn – burn is Scots for stream – and the trees are bare beyond, except for the pines.

Frosty path at West Barns Bridge (Click on all photos to enlarge – recommended)

The next photo shows more of the grass and the equally frosted field beyond. It was a cold but beautifully still day, with the sun on the river reflecting the grass on the right and the bridge at the top left. There was just a gentle ripple in the burn as it meandered its way on to Belhaven Bay.

Frosty burnside at West Barns

Looking over the wall approaching the path beside the burn, Belhaven Bay can be seen at low tide in the photo below. The beach was host to a large flock of seagulls, as well as – out of picture – oystercatchers, redshanks and curlews. On the right, you can see St Margaret’s House, the present day home of Winterfield Golf Club. Coming down on to the beach itself, you can cross Belhaven Bridge. When the tide comes in and covers the steps, it is known as The Bridge to Nowhere (good photos).

Belhaven Bay

The frost also brought a white addition to the flowers in pots on our decking. While both the compost in the pots and the flowers were frozen, there is a startling beauty about this altered state of nature. In the first photo below, the pansy’s flowers have been transformed into starched butterfly wings and the frost shows the mottled surface of the dark purple flower very clearly. The white and paler purple flower could be part of a Japanese fan or a painted scallop shell. The contrast between the normally soft and floppy flowers and these stiffened petals is quite marked. We could be looking at a different flower altogether. In the second photo, the flower has been broken – probably by the recent strong winds – and looks like a frosted dome, while the greenery on the plant has a thick white covering which emphasises the patterns on the flower.

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Broken and frosted pansy

I have also planted polyanthus in the pots this year and they too are changed by the frost. In the photo below, the leaves of the plant are changed into fern-like structures, with each element of the pattern clearly delineated by the frost. The flowers looked shocked by the onset of this icy blast but the frost enhances the yellow and pink colours of the polyanthus and this is a very attractive sight.

In his poem Hard Frost, Andrew Young writes

Frost called to water “Halt!”
And crusted the moist snow with sparkling salt.
Brooks, their own bridges, stop,
And icicles in long stalactites drop,
And tench in water holes
Lurk under gluey glass like fish in bowls.

You can see that my flowers have been “crusted …. with sparkling salt” – a perceptive metaphor for the frost.

Walk up the country and book podcasts

May 24, 2018

On a recent walk, we left the car at Wester Broomhouse, a farm at the top of a hill from which you can look back over the town of Dunbar. We then walked past Oswald Dean, scene of the first Battle of Dunbar in 1296 and on up towards the foot of Doon Hill, scene of the second Battle of Dunbar in 1650. Doon Hill is also famous for its Dark Age Settlement (good photos) which is worth visiting if you are near Dunbar. Unlike on New Year’s Day  (blog post) our walk did not take us to the summit of the hill, but we walked around the base of the hill and back to Spott Farm.

From the base of the hill, we looked down newly planted tattie (potato) fields. In the first photo below, you can see the elegant, flowing dreels (rows) of potatoes. In Scotland, if someone gets lost or takes a wrong turn or is looking in the wrong place, we might say that s/he is “up the wrong dreel”. I love seeing the smooth bare dreels, as in a short time, little green shaws will start to emerge, grow large and the field will be a mass of green. The brown dreels are like newly-formed and unpainted pottery, admirable in themselves. At the end of the field, you can see the group of houses known as The Doonery and one still has the large chimney, which would have formerly been part of the farm buildings here. When some farm machinery was steam-driven, chimneys were needed. To the right of and above The Doonery, before the sea, is my home town of Dunbar. To the above left, you can see Belhaven Bay (good photos) and the Bass Rock on the other side of the Firth of Forth.

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Looking towards Dunbar and Belhaven Bay from the foot of Doon Hill (Click on all photos to enlarge)

In the second photo below, you can see how the farmer has planted groups of tattie dreels side by side. I like the juxtaposition of the dreels going in different directions. I’m sure that there is a practical reason for the farmer doing this e.g. to increase the productivity of the field, but I like to impose some aesthetic quality on to the farmer and imagine that s/he might have seen the artistry in these patterns. The little hump that you can see in the middle/right of the photo, above the dreels and the green fields beyond, is North Berwick Law (good photos).

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Dreels in two directions

Later in our walk, we went through Spott Farm (good photos) which is a  very well maintained farm , with a beautiful clock below a turret on one of the buildings, as well as the magnificent Spott House, with the present façade done in the 1830s. We then went back down past the Doonery, and on the road towards Oswald Dean (known locally as Oasie Dean), we could firstly smell and then see the extensive clumps of wild garlic.

In the first photo below, you can see the emerging flowers which shoot up from the mass of green leaves on the wild garlic plants. Intriguingly, the photo also captures the shadows of the flowers on some of the leaves. Here is a joyous burst of brilliant white amongst the plethora of lush green leaves. The flowers have delicate white petals and thin stems, which are of a more delicate green than the leaves. If you look closely at the middle of the photo, you can see a spider – an industrious web maker seeking live prey which might venture into the garlic.

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Wild garlic leaves and flowers

The second photo is a close-up of the spider and the wild garlic flower. Look how the flower head seems to mimic the spider’s legs and how silk-like the nascent web is. When the garlic flowers are fully open, there are swathes of green and white lining the countryside road verges and that, along with the hawthorn bushes and trees breaking into white, transforms the previously dull road edges into rivers of dazzling white.

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Spider and wild garlic

While out on my bike, I listen to downloaded podcasts. I make sure that I can hear the traffic OK while I am listening. So far, my main podcast has been the BBC Radio 4’s Books and Authors. This is made up of two programmes – Open Book which features the mellifluous tones of Mariella Frostrup – and A Good Read which is presented by Harriet Gilbert. The programmes feature new books by a range of authors, as well as two guests discussing books which they recommend to others. More recently, I have been listening to interviews with authors on the The Guardian’s Books Podcast and soon I will be listening to an episode featuring the newly announced winner of the Man International Booker Prize Olga Tokarczuk. The 3rd book podcast certainly worth listening to is from The Free Library of Philadelphia and it features insightful interviews with contemporary authors such as Jesmyn Ward. Another podcast which I found recently is the Irish Times Books Podcast and I enjoyed the interview with Irish writer Adrian McKinty, who was talking about his new novel Rain Dogs which I will buy and read soon.

rain dogs

A final podcast but not related to books is Death in Ice Valley. This is a fascinating series of podcasts – I have only listened to the first two so far – about the mysterious death of a woman who was found in a remote valley near Bergen in the 1970s. The two reporters look back on the evidence and slowly provide more clues as to who the woman might be and how (or whether) she was murdered. I am hooked, so another episode tomorrow as I tackle some steepish hills on my bike.

 

 

Re-reading Thomas Hardy and walk to Seafield Pond and West Barns Bridge

December 17, 2017

Recently, I’d come to the end of the new books I’d bought and, looking along my bookshelves, I picked up a copy of Thomas Hardy short stories (cover below). I bought this book in the mid 1970s and opening the book and starting to read the first story The Three Strangers, I was immediately taken back to Hardy’s eloquent and flowing style. The story begins “Among the few features of agricultural England which retain an appearance little modified by the centuries, may be reckoned the long, grassy and furzy downs, coombes or ewe-leases, as they are called, according to their kind, that fill a large area of certain counties in the south and south west”. What struck me was the length of the sentence – typical of nineteenth century writers like Hardy – and the local words used by the writer. “Furzy downs” are stretches of rural land covered in what we might call gorse and a “coomb” is a deep valley. More explanations here. In his excellent introduction to the short stories, the novelist John Wain wrote that Hardy once said that a short story “must be unusual and the people interesting”. Wain also notes that Hardy’s short stories are unlike more modern versions, which tend have a single theme around which a tale is told. In Hardy’s stories, such as “The Withered Arm” or “The Distracted Preacher” the reader is presented with different characters, some of whom have their own intriguing tales to tell. It is the context of the stories – rural Dorset in the early to mid-nineteenth century – that distinguishes them from even contemporary short fiction. The isolated cottage in “The Three Strangers” or the village in “The Grave by the Handpost” where ” a lane crosses the lone straight highway dividing this from the next parish” and where “the whispers of this spot may claim to be preserved”. There are also echoes of Hardy’s novels in the stories such as the character William Dewy of Mellstock and the town of Casterbridge. Hardy is a superb story teller and in each story, the reader is given an early indication of what might be to follow. In “The Withered Arm”, the setting is “an eighty cow dairy” in the early evening and, with most of the cattle milked “there was opportunity for a little conversation. “He do bring home his bride tomorrow, I hear. They’ve come as far as Anglebury today”. Hardy continues “The voice seemed to come from the belly of the cow called Cherry, but the speaker was a milking-woman, whose face was buried in the flank of that motionless beast”. The reader knows the setting and is intrigued by the conversation. I have enjoyed reading these stories again after many years and I encourage you to try them.

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Short stories by Thomas Hardy (Click on all photos to enlarge)

There’s a good 2 mile (3.2k) walk from our house to Seafield Pond (good photo)  and West Barns bridge. The most picturesque route is firstly to  Dunbar Harbour (historical photos), then along Winterfield Promenade and on round part of the picturesque Winterfield Golf Club. I was headed for Seafield Pond first, to try to get some more photos of the pond and its birds. A previous attempt can be seen here. When I got to the pond, it was frozen over and not a bird to be seen, just some bits of wood from the nearby trees stuck to the ice. There was however, a nice reflection (see below) from the adjacent caravan/mobile home park, where you can now hire a “Deluxe running water wigwam with WC” – what next?

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Seafield Pond at Belhaven, near Dunbar

The birds were all on the beach over the wall but firstly I walked along to West Barns bridge, which spans the Biel Burn (small river). It was a very sunny day and the previous night’s sharp frost can be seen on the entrance to the bridge here.

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West Barns bridge and the Biel Burn

Because of the position of the sun in the early afternoon, there was a superb reflection in the water below the bridge, with the brilliant blue water becoming paler and paler as the sun caught it fully on the bend of the river. This part of the Biel Burn is where the fresh water meets the incoming tide.

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West Barns bridge

I know a few people – of a certain age – who spent quite a bit of their youth on the Biel Burn guddling for trout, and they each have their own secret method. This is a form of fishing in which the potential fish catcher does not use a rod or a net, but his/her fingers to catch the trout. I’m assured by two former poachers that it is an art and not a science, and that an expert guddler is born with a gift. There’s a PhD in there somewhere for a dedicated scholar e.g.  “Guddling: A phenomenological analysis”. Guddling was – and probably still is – carried out in shaded areas, such as at the tree line end of this photo.

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Guddling spot near the trees on the Biel Burn

It was on my way back along what is known as the Dump Road as there used to be a council tip nearby, I tried to capture some of the birds on the beach and on the water on Belhaven Bay. I was using my zoom lens and it’s difficult to get very clear photos without a camera stand. The two best were firstly, a redshank on the move, with some nice reflections of the rocks and the vegetation.

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Redshank amongst the rocks and grass at Belhaven Bay

I’m more pleased with the second photo, which is of a curlew flying off across the water. While the beak is not all that clear, I do like the light on one wing and the shadow on the other, plus the reflection in the water. I used my Sports setting for this one.

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Curlew flying over Belhaven Bay with the tide in

So a very rewarding walk on a cold but bright day and on the way back I reflected how lucky I am to live in such an entrancing environment.

Winterfield walk, apricot stuffing and Auld Year’s Day

January 1, 2016

Note: The photos do not appear to be opening in a new tab as normal – trying to fix this.

A bright and sunny day with a big tide haring towards the shore around Dunbar meant that it was ideal for a walk along the promenade at the end of  Winterfield Park. The origin of the name Winterfield is thought to be related to the fields where cattle were put in the winter, probably as it’s by the sea and less prone to frost. In the park, there is still the Pavilion standing, although it is likely to be demolished. My own memories of Winterfield Park and the pavilion include seeing cricket matches and sheep-dog trials. It was a very stylish building in its heyday but has been neglected for many years.

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Winterfield Pavilion Photograph by Richard West used under Creative Commons Licence

Once we got on to the promenade, originally built in 1894 as a gift to the town from the local Baird Family, we were presented with an outstanding view across the Firth of Forth to Fife and west to Edinburgh. In the article from the local paper in the previous link, it was stated that “a more commanding position could not be found where from to survey the wildest tumults of the North Sea when under a winter sky it rushes against the cliffy defences of the town. From far up the Firth out as far as the eye may pierce there stretches a scene of stormy thunderous turmoil”. On this walk, there was much evidence of the sea in turmoil with the waves engulfing the rocks around the shore. As it is still the holiday period here, the promenade was quite busy with families, including visiting relatives, out walking on the prom.

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Incoming tide viewed from Winterfield promenade

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Waves hitting the rocks near Winterfield promenade

When you leave the promenade, you go along a path at the edge of the picturesque Winterfield Golf Club (good photos) which was busy with golfers and walkers. You are then presented with a panoramic view across Belhaven Bay (good photos), now a major surfing site all the year round. The tide was well in on our walk and the waves had smoothed out as they stretched across the wide span of the beach. I always love watching the waves extending themselves when they reach the flat beach and, fresh from hurling themselves at the rocks, taking a more leisurely approach, like a long distance swimmer.

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Incoming tide at Belhaven Bay

I’ve featured Belhaven Bridge many times on this blog and taken photos of “the bridge to nowhere” when the tide is in. You never get the same height of tide, or the same light or the same motion of the waves around the bridge. As ever, there were people taking photos of the bridge and I’m sure some of them were wondering why it was there at all.

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The bridge to nowhere at Belhaven Bay

I’m not a great turkey fan but I get outvoted in our family when I suggest that we have something different. So, the highlight for me at the Xmas Day meal – food-wise of course – was my home made apricot stuffing. I still use a recipe from the 1977 book Farmhouse Kitchen and the photo below shows our well-worn copy. The book was one of series from the popular 1970s TV show Farmhouse Kitchen.

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Farmhouse Kitchen book

There are many apricot stuffing recipes of course, but this one is simple and delicious. You can of course stuff your turkey or chicken with this but I prefer to cook it separately. I finely chopped 2 small shallots and sweated them in butter. I made 6oz (it’s a 1970s recipe!) of wholemeal breadcrumbs ( FK recommends white) and in a bowl, I mixed the shallots, breadcrumbs, 4oz chopped apricots, 2 oz chopped peanuts, 1 tablespoon chopped parsley from my garden, the grated rind and juice of a large orange, salt and pepper and one beaten egg. I just mixed it with a spoon until it was moist but not wet. I put it into a flat, greased metal dish and cooked it for 30 mins at 180 degrees. This is it before it went in the oven. No post cooking photo as pressure was on to serve. All agreed that it was very tasty.

Apricot stuffing uncooked.

Apricot stuffing uncooked.

Today in Dunbar is known as Auld Year’s Day and later as Auld Year’s Night. No New Year’s Eve (too southern) and no Hogmanay (too northern) in this wee part of south-east Scotland. I was wondering how it might have originated. I’m sure one    theory may be that it was a product of strict Presbyterianism. The more extreme Protestants were very suspicious of being presumptuous. So, saying New Year’s Eve would be to presume that you would, in fact, see in the New Year but, sinner that you were, how did you know that you would be spared? So Auld year’s Day looks back to the year past and not the year ahead – until it arrives! To all my readers, have a very Good New Year and a lively 2016.