On the last day of my brief northern adventure, Rachel and I walked from Coldingham village down to Coldingham Bay. On the way, we strolled round the ruins of Coldingham Priory - which, luckily for us, was holding a special open day for some visiting archaeologists and schoolchildren, so we were able to go inside the restored church.
Coldingham Bay is popular with surfers, and there were a few brave souls bobbing around out there in the crashing waves, though we didn’t notice any of them actually standing on their boards and doing the full Old Spice routine. I’m not a water baby. And especially not a freezing cold turbulent water baby. I can’t even begin to imagine what it must feel like to be out there in the North Sea under such conditions. I suppose it must be quite exhilarating, in a muscular, masculine sort of a way, but it’s not something which appeals to me one little tiny bit.
Scaled some steep steps and followed the cliff path round to St Abbs – where another hardy species can be found: the diver. Apparently the water is incredibly clear a long way out, and there are underwater rock formations to swim through and scary-looking Arctic wolf-fish to view. Well, I wish them joy of it – I think I can safely predict that I will never be seen in a wet suit and flippers.
Drank a coffee of almost Cafe Royal proportions in a harbour-side cafe and made our way back across the sands to Coldingham.
And then it was time to head back into Berwick-upon-Tweed and the long journey home to the Muddy Island. Which took six hours.
1 comment:
You're spot on about flippers, wet suits and icy cold sea bathing but at least you had splendid views!
As usual, I had to stop what I was doing (ie trying to pretend that I did not have a deadline looming) to look at the wonderful photos and follow up the fascinating links.
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