Going Full Celt - Haunted by Evil Spirits

 

For the ancient Celts, there were two worlds and two seasons. The world of light and life and the world of shadows and death. Summer was a season celebrated for warmth, growth and sustenance in fruits and grains, but the winter season was feared for its cold, death and deprivation. For the ancient Celts, the world of life and light became imperiled as the benevolent power of the sun's sustaining light dwindled, allowing death to walk the earth amidst the darkness and lengthening shadows. It was a frightening season to witness warmth and light ebb into the consuming shadows.

This season of peril at summer's end to the Celts is Samhain (saa-wen). Samhain was a time for us the living to be on our guard. For as the season of light ended, the world of shadows and death drew close to the world of the living, and if the veil separating the two worlds lifted, as it does on October 31st, ghosts of the dead, spirits of evil, cross over from their shadow world and haunt the living. If one should be accosted by an evil shadow from the other world on the night of Samhain, one would be cursed. It is best to be disguised if one ventures out on Samhain so no ghost will recognize you and curse you. 

When the power of the risen Christ was preached in the pagan Celtic lands, the Church baptized this pagan Samhain festival dedicated to the fear of the dead walking among us on Samhain night, and rechristened it to All Hallows Day to be celebrated November 1st, to honor all the departed Christian saints. 

The night before November 1st is All Hallows Eve, coinciding with Samhain. All Hallows Eve was a mouthful, so we of the English tongue slurred and contracted the 3-word All Hallows Eve to Halloween. Yet, the pagan heart still beats on beneath the Gospel of Life eternal now preached - for when we think of Halloween, do we not think of ghosts and witches, rather than the memory of saintly Nana walking with Jesus?

***

From where I now write, I sit in a resurrected house built upon the once cursed and scorched foundation of a home that was invaded by evil on All Hallows Eve in 2016. Evil beings visited me on Samhain. Wicked ones burst through the locked door of the vacant home of my wife's childhood and with a curse on their lips and malicious intentions in their dark heart they set torched to our home and property on October 31, 2016. 

Arson aftermath from Oct. 31, 2016

A night when evil walked among us.

This Samhain I'm going full Celt. On the eighth anniversary of when evil incarnate brought a curse across my threshold, I have resorted to the Iron Age Celtic practice of carving an evil, grimacing face into a large gourd to ward off visits of the wicked and evil spirits from my home and to hold them away from crossing my threshold. 

Carving of a Celtic jack-o-Lantern to ward off evil spirits on Samhain (Halloween)

Halloween and its haunting is on my mind. I have carved a pumpkin to stay safe.

I have taken further precautions. Precautions the ancient Celts did not have. I have loaded my 12 gauge shotgun to further discourage any evil spirits from crossing my threshold.

Fierce Jack-o-Lantern on my porch. 12 gauge inside my door. 

My resurrected house is on a dark, secluded, county road without shoulders and my 1/6 mile driveway approached is barred by a solid steel gate. The weather forecast for Halloween at my place is for temperatures to be around 48 F with rain showers likely during trick-or-treat time. All of this convinces me that I will see neither costumed princesses nor superheroes walk past my lit pumpkin and ring my bell expecting to be greeted with a fistful of candy. No, any soul coming up my drive in the dark has evil lurking in his heart.  

I do have some nice bon bons just in case. But if I don't give any away - I have all that is left for myself.

May your Halloween haunts be heartfelt and happy.

Aurora Borealis

 

Northern Lights 

News Flash! - A Coronal Mass Ejection has been detected on the surface of the sun. A massive solar flare has sent a major solar storm of charge subatomic particles heading toward earth and they will hit the magnetic field October 9 and 10. 

This could be exciting. The Space Weather Forecast is for the night sky to be lit up with green, pinks and reds by excited charged particles carried on the solar wind and entering earth's atmosphere around the poles and upper latitudes. As far as  such things go, this solar geomagnetic storm is predicted to be an 8 on the Kp Scale that ranges from 1 to 9. Pretty exciting. 

I have long wished to witness the Aurora Borealis overhead. Living most of my life in Texas and California has ruled out any real hope of being part of this natural phenomena. But wait - I now live in Northwest Washington, well within realistic range of the Northern Lights when the solar storm activity kicks up to a Kp 8. The draw back is that Washington skies are often overcast if not rainy. Getting a view of the Northern Lights will take more than wishing, geography and staying up late. It will take a bit of luck with the Washington weather too.

It was cloudy on October 9th and I wrote off the chance to see the Northern Lights and went to bed. The earth-bound forecast was for clear skies on the night of October 10. On the 10th, I studied my camera manual on the subject of night photography. I watched the sun set, the stars come out and I had picked a spot west of Stanwood along the tidal channel separating Camano Island from the mainland. I hoped this spot would offer a dark sky and an unobstructed view north.

There was a bit of ground fog haze, but not too much, the air was clear, but my spot was also downwind of the Stanwood sewage plant, so the air was 'aromatic' as well. There were a few other cars park along the dark service road when I got out there around 10 PM; some were looking for the northern lights, some were homeless people living in those parked vehicles.

My expectations were moderated, but optimistic. I was anticipating standing under waving, shimmering curtains of ethereal green lights dancing overhead. By the time I started my engine to return home and go to bed it was almost 11:30 and my expectation were dashed downward a bunch of notches. I experienced not the sight I'd anticipated, but a dim glow of the Aurora BOREalis. Boring.

I'd scanned the northern horizon looking for fingers of green and pink rays illuminating the boundary between earth and heaven - nothing. I caught sight of a dim, colorless glow to the northeast. The phenomena looked like the glow on those low clouds which reflect the light of an urban population beneath when driving into a city. Except, this glow lasted for a few minutes, faded and then reappeared with a different intensity. I figured these must be the Northern Lights off to the northeast. Oh well, that's them and I've now seen the Auroral Borealis.

To the naked eye the light was pale in comparison with the olid sewer gases filling my nostrils. I had read that using a long exposure on a camera would be a great way to capture the glory of the Aurora Borealis, better than the naked eye. I regret that I did not have the necessary tripod or remote shutter release for my camera for basic and proper night photography. I would have to do with using the hood of my SUV as a stable platform. 

I was already disappointed that the Northern Lights were not the swirling streams of radiating heavenly lights, just a faint, wan glow above the eastern front range mountains. But, I was even more disappointed in myself for not being able to execute a simple long exposure photo with my camera settings as I had thought I had learned by watching tutorial videos earlier in the day. I managed to get a single frame for a 6 second exposure at ISO 3200 f/5.6 while hand-holding my camera. I get a low D-Minus for my big photo opportunity with the Aurora Borealis. 

That one shaky photo is displayed on this blog. Pathetic.

An opportunity squandered. My expectations humbled. My technical skills absent.

Yes, I did see the Northern Lights. They were not what I thought they'd be - at least at this latitude. If another shot comes my way, I hope to have a tripod and and technical understanding of how use my camera. I'll be delighted to post any future success with Miss Aurora in her celestial glory. --'til then... 

Eany Meany Mighty Mow!

I need a mighty mow. 

I returned to my house at the end of August after nearly six months in Texas and I immediately realized that the place had gone to seed. 

My house overrun by rambunctious weeds upon my return from Texas

I love living on 50 acres surrounded by towering cedars, firs, alders and cotton wood trees. I hate living on 50 acres overrun by stickery black berry canes and unruly brown grasses and weeds.

Living in the woods along the shore of Pilchuck Creek makes my heart rise with a deep satisfaction when I turn into my driveway and gaze across my field, orchard and conifer-shrouded hillsides. But when the place is weedy and overgrown, I look out my window and my heart feels heavy - I am wallowing in a scruffy weed patch. Woe is me, I sigh.

I may be the exception; the deer, the field mice, and the black bears and all God's creatures seem to enjoy the thick grasses. But I have dominion over the land (I tell myself, quoting God himself in Genesis 1) and I want to see a change to the landscape, more like a garden rather than a cursed ground of thistles and stickers.

Doe and her yearling munch clover under the cover of tall grass in my field

I had a phone number of a man who was said to be available for bushwhacking, brush-cutting and mowing. He had been contacted over the summer to give me an estimate for his services, but he was busy cutting hay for the dairy herds in these parts. Summer was his busy season and my place and its needs didn't make the cut.

I tried again in September. He was available and came by the next morning for a look-see. I was elated. Dave asked me, "Would tomorrow around 9 be OK?" We shook hands, it was a deal. Eany Meany Miney Mow - I choose you!

Nine in the morning: It's mow time!

Dave backs his John Deere off the trailer, lowers the brush hog implement and we're ready to get the place spiffed up. 

Dave the bushwhacker man, makes a clean cut along my drive. It looks fabulous!

The vicious black berry thorns and their encroaching canes are pushed back away from where they've grown over and are beginning to cover my drive. The tall weeds are cut to a civilized appearance and the five-foot high thickets of berry vines choking my orchard are shredded. 

Tractor is swallowed in a sea of black berry stickers in my orchard

Dave brush cutting the berries behind the house

Before he put his machine in gear, we discussed several hazards that he should avoid, including an open perc pit dug to evaluate the location of where to put my septic system. I pointed to an area beneath the thick cover of berries where caution was to be exercised. He managed to find the pit and thought that it was not too deep. It was deeper than he expected. 

Dave planted his Deere in my orchard. Not recommended.

Together, me driving his dually truck chained to his tractor, we managed to extract the machine without much trouble. He mounted his Deere and continued the job.

Dave and his tractor finished cutting about 7 acres of the most troubling vegetation in 5 hours. I cut him a check for $475 - A great value in my opinion. Some of the best money I've spent out here. Especially considering I paid $350 for a Stihl hand-held blade trimmer a few weeks earlier to tackle some of the vegetation just around the house. 

I feel good, real good after all is done.

The sweet smell of fresh cut grass.

The handsome look of a well manicured landscape in the middle of the woods. 

The feel of autumnal sunshine warms my back and the view warms my heart.

Weed Whacking Wonder

 Six months gone.

Fuchsias in their glory, Summer 2023

In mid-March I left Washington. I pulled the two hanging pots of fuchsias that I had been trying to nurse through the Western Washington winter out of the basement refuge. The fuchsias were putting on green growth and throwing hints of flamboyant bloom propagation in the daylight basement, next to the west-facing glass paneled French doors. March is known to be a cruel month, offering some rays of warmth and lengthening light, only to be suckered into a cruel return of freezes and possible late snow. 

Hanging fuchsia in WA warmth

March is no time to throw the tropical fuchsias into the open air. But I had no choice, they'd die for certain without water in my absence. I placed their pots outside and hoped for the best as I locked the gate behind me and headed south for Texas.

Day 2 on the road, I was stymied by a heavy spring snow storm that closed I-80 across my chosen route in Wyoming. I detoured west to Utah, down through Salt Lake City and then back east over I-70 to my reserved room in Colorado Springs. It was beating with 17-and-a-half hours on wet and snowy roads. 

My fuchsias also took a beating. No snow, but nights below freezing back home. Alas, it was their death.

Before and After

Meanwhile, in my six month absence, spring came to The Pilchuck, grasses, black berry canes and tall grasses grew unabated throughout the pleasant summer months. Upon my return at the end of August, I recoiled at the sight of what the place looked like at after I'd left in in God's hands. 

Oh lord. It was a mess.

August 31, 2024 Overgrown front of my house.

August 31, 2024. View from my front porch.

August 31, 2024. Wild weeds greet my return.

One of the first orders of business was a visit to Arlington Hardware. I looked over my options and armaments to battle the wild weeds that were overrunning the place.

I selected a Stihl line trimmer with an optional blade attachment. I marshalled my forces against the green menace, ripped the start cord and waded into battle against stickers and seedy weedies. I cleared the berry canes that were encroaching my 0.15 mile gravel driveway with the tri-blade attachment, rearmed myself with the line trimmer and beat back the massive weeds rushing the walk way ramp of my dwelling.

September 2024. The threat of tall weeds is cleared from front door ramp.

September 2024. It's not immaculate - but it is cut to a manageable manicured size.

It feels good to make a bit of progress with a power tool in one's hands. All of those weeds climbing up every side of my house are now cut back to the ground. I no longer fear green tendrils suffocating me inside my home while I sleep. 

Mischief managed. 

It is not immaculate and pristine horticulture, but it is progress. Plenty more to do. One day, I will get a tractor and a brush hog implement. Then I will be King of the Pilchuck with berry vines and weeds in submission.

The dream is alive and it is sweet.

Scotland - Lady Victoria Colliery

 June 30, 2024

Jimmy, our tour guide and former coal miner at lady Victoria Colliery

Traveling to-and-fro between our country cottage in Gorebridge frequently brought us past the sign 'National Mining Museum of Scotland.' This is the kind of sign that makes me think, 'I know we will end up here before it is all said and done.' And so it came to pass, that on our last full day in Scotland, we knew we would be touring the Lady Victoria in Newtongrange, just up the road from Gorebridge.

An unusually gray sky greeted us that last Sunday morning in Scotland. We pulled together some breakfast got set for our 10 AM tour of what was once the deepest coal pit in Scotland at 530m. 

Our small tour group that morning got a look at the surface works (the underground shaft was filled when it closed on 1984) of coal mine by a former collier, Jimmy. We got a great bunch of stories of work and life underground, the techniques and the evolution of Britain's coal industry over the last couple of hundred years. Coal fueled the Empire and has quite the ingrained impression on the societal fabric of parts of Great Britain. The Lady Victoria Colliery was shut down in 1984.

A mockup of the conditions underground at the Mining Museum

Jimmy guided us through the tunnel and introduced us to the heavy equipment employed to mine coal

Jimmy & Mark at the Winding Wheel, the headworks that lowered men and equipment deep underground.

The stories of the coal miner's life were often brutish in their Dickensian tales of hard child labor and the hard scrabble life of mining families. The museum featured the machinery of the once working pit, but also has modern displays showing the aspects of mining, the dangers, the political upheavals that came with the miners and this critical industry to the British Empire.

***

After a morning of dark, dirty and dangerous tales of hard lives spent in the coal pits, we were ready for some sunshine and a walk in the fresh air.

Not only did we frequently drive past the National Mining Museum, but we also noted the Gorebridge Nature Reserve off our route as well. I took the short drive into the entrance to the nature Reserve and we were soon out and bout on our feet and walking among trees and streams in the Scottish countryside.

Sue and I stroll along a nature trail in Gorebridge 

A refreshing little walk after a tour of a dark colliery nearby

Our last evening in Scotland, I thought I'd be up for one more drive through the wonderful pastoral country of the Scottish Borderlands. We decided we'd have dinner about 20 miles south of Gorebridge in the lovely little town of Galashiel on the River Tweed. We mapped out the route to an Indian restaurant and had a large, spicy meal. Returning in the late evening light, satisfied in all that we had done for the past fortnight. We packer our bags and were ready for the next morning's commute back to Edinburgh to catch a plane back to Texas Time.

Scotland - Rosslyn Chapel

 June 29, 2024

Sue ready to tour the beautiful & enigmatic Rosslyn Chapel

Looking for more attractions near our base camp in Gorebridge, I saw that just a few miles away is Rosslyn Chapel. I think to myself, I've heard of this place. I am intrigued. I encountered Rosslyn Chapel on TV, back when my cable subscription carried the History Channel. Yes, that History Channel.

I must admit for several years I was an avid follower of some History Channel programming, including The Curse of Oak Island [about the myth of buried treasures and the mystery & treasure hunting brothers Rick and Marty who were digging on Oak Island off the coast of Nova Scotia, looking for clues as to who and when the mystery treasure was buried]. Also, there was once running on the History Channel a show, America Unearthed, featuring forensic geologist Scott Wolter exploring mysterious structures found in North America and proposing their possible origin as being remnants from unknown cultures or even European or Old World people sailing to North American long before Columbus. Scott Wolter on his show was keen on looking for links to the Knights Templar in North America and beyond.

Both of these History Channel shows had episodes linking Rosslyn Chapel with the secretive and powerful medieval brotherhood, the Knights Templar. The Knights Templar are believed by some to have carried sacred treasures obtained from the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem during the Crusades. Some also think that the Knights Templar then hid these treasures in North America for safe keeping. One of the Earls from the Sinclair family that built Rosslyn Chapel is asserted to have been a powerful member of the Knights Templar and to have sailed to 'the Western Lands [North America] almost 100 years before Columbus. The purpose of this Earl's voyage was to deposit relics such as the Holy Grail, the Ark of the Covenant and the Skull of John the Baptist away from scurrilous forces subject to desecrate these relics, currently held for safe keeping in hands of the Knights Templar. At least that is the legend broadcast on the History Channel. 

And all of this mystery and intrigue has been linked to Rosslyn Chapel, here in our very Gorebridge neighborhood! Exciting!

Rosslyn Chapel entrance filled with symbolism

We enjoyed a lovely, winding trip through the Scottish countryside on our way to Rosslyn; getting lost a bit, though not intentionally, but also not minding having to redirect our route through glen and over verdant hill until we were where we wanted to be.

Mark referees boxing hares in Rosslyn green

Entrance into Rosslyn Chapel is limited to a finite number every hour and a half or so, thus keeping the visiting throngs to a manageable level. We purchased our tickets and were told to wait outside the gate for another hour. So, we wandered about town - the same town that has been wandered about in the past by the likes of the poets Robert Burns, Wordsworth and other personages of royal and earned fame, who have over the years stayed in the small Rosslyn Inn next to the chapel. Burns having scratched a poem of thanks to the innkeeper in a silver platter.

Poets visiting Rosslyn Glen thought it to be unrivaled in beauty in Scotland's landscape

Queen Victoria once also visited Rosslyn Chapel and decreed it to be a treasure and a shame that it had fallen into such disrepair, what with no roof and the intricately carved stone interior now covered in moss and overrun by forest botany. Enough said, by a decree from Her Royal Highness, the chapel was then set for efforts of restoration and repair over the coming year. The big boost to its restoration effort came from Hollywood and the star power of Tom Hanks. Rosslyn Chapel was featured in the movie based on Dan Brown's book, The Davinci Code. The studio contributed £20 million to restore the chapel. The 'Tom Hanks' miracle. 

The stewards of Rosslyn Chapel request that no photos be taken of its spectacular interior. For any readers desiring to get a peek inside this special place, I suggest doing a Google search of Rosslyn Chapel.

Once we were inside Rosslyn Chapel, we fell in with a young woman who was pointing out some of the enigmatic carvings and speaking softly, and somewhat authoritatively on the mysteries before us inside Rosslyn Chapel. 

We were guided to the front of the chapel where an ornately carved stone column stood among other, yet different columns. The most ornate column is known as the 'Apprentice Pillar'. 

Legend tells of the master mason who was building the chapel went on a journey to seek inspiration from the works of other masons work to be found in continental Europe. In the absence of the master mason, his apprentice had a dream of a beautiful pillar placed in the chapel, and told this dream to Prince Henry who had commissioned Rosslyn Chapel. 

The young apprentice was given permission by the Prince to carve his dream pillar and place it in the front of the chapel. The apprentice worked hard, full of inspiration and masterfully completed his pillar project. 

The master mason returned from his long trip, saw that a beautiful column was already in place of where he had expected to carve his masterpiece. His apprentice proudly claimed the work on which his master gazed. At this, the master mason flew into a jealous rage, taking the mason's mallet from his apprentice's hand and striking him in the head. The young, promising apprentice fell dead to the chapel floor.

The jealous master mason was hanged for his crime. And the fellow apprentice masons carved the master's head in stone and placed it in a position so he will have his gaze fixed on the work of his apprentice for all of eternity. The dead apprentice also had his likeness carved and place opposite the head of his master and his slayer in memorial, also, the head of the young apprentice's grieving mother was set near the likeness of her son.

Gargoyle drain spout

Now, in hindsight, I have my doubts that the young woman speaking about the mysteries and legends of Rosslyn chapel was an official tour guide, but she seemed to be worth listening to. It was then that I realized that she was being coached to some degree in her presentation by a familiar face; standing among our group was Scott Wolter, host of America Unearthed series that aired on the History Channel. 

I was told by our adjunct, impromptu tour guide that some recent investigators had fed a small camera under the floor to the burial chamber, which for centuries, the deceased crusading knights from the Sinclair family, rumored by Sir Walter Scott (among others) to be laid to rest in the subfloor crypt in full armor. The camera investigation revealed that those laid to rest below were now covered in sand and not visible. 

I spoke to Scott Wolter as I stood next to him in the crypt below Rosslyn Chapel. I wondered if the sand covering these noble knights might be imported from The Holy Land. He told me, that as a forensic geologist, if he had a sample, he could indeed determine the likely origin of the sand. I knew this.

Scott Wolter, then showed us an enigmatic etching on the crypt wall and suggested that one interpretation of this diagram could be interpreted as a map to Jerusalem, explaining that the four-sided parallelograms could be used as latitude markers for both Midlothian Scotland and the other for the latitude of Jerusalem. Interesting.

Mysteries abound. 

Sue tries to interpret the weathered remains of a figure 
on Rosslyn Chapels exterior.

We finished the our day in Rosslyn Chapel suitably impressed. Even if much of  the enigma was History Channel hype, no doubt it was a most beautiful and impressive building. But I do confess, I love a good mystery or two. I would go back again.

Scotland - St. Abbs, Lunch & Leisure

 June 28, 2024

Mark on the brae at St. Abbs Harbour

It was wonderful to lounge in bed together well into the morning as daylight which was filtering into our country cottage in Gorebridge. We were on holiday and we had no schedule to meet, no check-out time to hurry us along, not ques to stand in awaiting designated ticket entrance. It was an intentional life of leisure this Friday morning.

We had no breakfast food in our kitchen and no specific plans for our feeding. I felt open opportunities outside our door, yet I felt no rush to seize those opportunities. I felt relaxed. Once we were both showered and fresh for the day, I suggested that in my opinion it was getting too late for a proper breakfast, so I planned to take a road trip back to the coast and find ourselves a proper brunch. I had an idea that something good could be found in the small harbor town of St. Abbs, a place we had not yet visited. It was a bit further down the road from Siccar Point, the place of our pilgrimage the day before.

This is the kind of touring I find ideal; not setting an agenda, just a general idea of wanting to find and walk about a small coastal hamlet and follow my nose and count on a bit of good fortune in finding a meal and things of interest. It was a free-form day. It was an expectation of a double blessing. It was like having the recess bell ring while on holiday. It was grand!

We drove back along the route of A1107, which had befuddled me and my sense of direction in search of Siccar Point yesterday. Today, it was a different road, I was on good terms with the A1107, I was on a gallivanting adventure with no particular point in mind.  We wound around the coastal turns, the North Sea to our left, the road lined with pines, the sunshining in my eyes, my sweetheart on my left and all was right with the world.

We coasted through farmland and along old stone walls before cutting off into the tiny town of St. Abbs. There are but maybe four streets in town. We parked on the one that was above the harbor. We walked back to The Old School House which was serving lunch.

It is a day in St. Abbs where we slow down, 'stop and smell the roses', before sitting down for lunch.

The Old School House is serving lunch 'til 3 

  

There's a good crowd of older retired people - I am bit disappointed to realize that we fit right in with this crowd of 'older retired people'. I like to think of myself as not that old and certainly my young wife is not retired. No matter the demographics, everyone has got to eat. Let's sit down and get ready to dig in.

My gluten-intolerant wife is pleased to find that she can order a GF (gluten free) burger. "I haven't had a burger in a bun in a long, long while. That is what I'm going to have!" She is positively excited about her lunch order. She adds a chai to go with her burger. Eclectic? Yes, why not. We're in Scotland.

Yes, we are in Scotland, therefore, I will order fish and chips with a side of onion rings. And it comes with canned peas, I guess because we are in Scotland.

Dessert is also to be included - because we are on holiday in Scotland.

Mark shares a cup of tea and his pistachio cheesecake in St. Abbs

I find walking in the British Isles easier than driving in the British Isles. So we take a stroll after lunch and drop down into the harbor below. There is a terrace overlooking the harbor and we pause to take in the serene view before us. 

Beside us is a bronze piece, poignantly sculpted figures of women with babe on hip, children clinging to the hem of their skirts as they hold a hand to their brow, scanning the North Sea searching for boats, and in those boasts, hopes of seeing husbands, fathers and brothers returning to safe harbor. Those men never did. A great storm blew up in 1881, drowning the lives of 181 fishermen, fathers and husbands from the fleets of southeast Scotland. The North Sea which we look upon so pleasantly today is not always so. So tells the memorial beside us.

My wife stands above the North Sea next to a memorial to the surviving families and the 181 men lost 
in a single day in 1881 when the sea took nearly the entirety of Scotland eastern fishing fleet. 

On foot we descent the many wooden steps to the rocky beach and the postage stamp harbor below.

Postage stamp harbor at Saint Abbs, Scotland

We clamber among the jagged conglomerate rocks on St. Abbs'
rough & rocky beach

Sue searches tidepools for marine life

At the base of the stairs, we pick our way among wave worn jagged rocks, taking in the geology and looking for marine creatures biding their time at low tide in the tide pools carved into stone crevices at our feet.

We hop from rock to rock, the sea is placid in sunshine and a light breeze. The day is slow and leisurely and close to perfect.

We hop off our rock perch, passing over periwinkles seashells and limpets washed between rounded cobbles, stepping so as not to twist an ankle. We head for the concrete buttresses that stand as a bulwark against the often raging North Sea that beats against and  batters these sturdy stone standing at the foot of St. Abbs.

 

Hoisting ourselves up rusted iron steps, we mount the top of the concrete jetty and join the gaze of a few others staring out into the small indentation that forms St. Abbs' Harbour. "Did you see the whale?" a young woman asks us.

"No, we just now perched ourselves up here," is my answer. 

"It's right out there, near the that rock at the end of the harbour."

We look for a moment or two, before the dark dorsal fin and then a fluke rose out of the water. "It's a minke whale feeding," we are told by an informed woman affiliated with the marine sanctuary beyond these shores.

A local whale-watcher keeps tabs on a minke whale feeding near shore

We feel fortunate to see a whale. We see jellies floating by and we take the marine scents into our nostrils and along with it, the briny air into our lungs. We take the day's pleasures into our holiday souls.

Alas, it is too late in the day to take in Mackie's Real Dairy Ice Cream into our mouths.

We will return to Gorebridge and try our hand at shopping at the super grocery store chain known as Tesco. We get raspberries & fruit, scones, crumpets and cheese. this will be our light supper and if we pace ourselves, it'll have to do for breakfast in the morning.

Fisherman's gear stowed at St. Abbs' Harbour

As we make the climb back up the hill to our car, we notice the poster heralding  the next exciting event; the competition for a local lassie to be crowned the 80th Eyemouth Herring Queen. I wonder, if when the Herring Queen gets married, does she become an Alewife?

 Just curious about the local customs.