Grandma Goes Coastal

July 31 Fenham Farm

The walk today to Fenham Farm was billed at 13 miles, and the accommodation made it quite clear that arrival time is 3:30. They would, however, let me check in at 1:00, which I thought was very nice, but what to do with those extra hours? Well, turns out that walking the city walls in Berwick-upon-Tweed is a THING, so I decided that I would sleep in—which I did until 5:20—walk the walls, and set out late. The wall walk was terrific, especially in the early morning when only a few dog walkers are out; that way your views are uninterrupted, and it is just grand. It was a lovely way to begin the day. A late start, a purposely schleppy pace and two extra miles (the walls) = arriving at destination at 1:00 p.m. on the dot!

The farm itself was kind of fun. You had your own cabin, so to speak, each one named after a bird, and to get wifi you go to a “main house.”

To leave Berwick, you cross a bridge:

On the outskirts of town, there was a bird. Was it wondering whether to cross the road? Was it wondering whether it might want to join its feathered friends at the establishment across the street?

No, even the bird decided it could find better lodgings:

Bee and thistle:

At a safe(?) distance, and not bothering to worry about the focus, I decided I HAD to have a picture of this bull, despite a fearsome look in his eyes, and a posture that communicated, “I can charge at you, you know:”

As Rosie would say, “I faced my fears,” and also thought/hoped he had enough other interests nearby:

There sure is a lot of road walking on these walks, and the Northumberland Coastal Path, despite its name, goes miles inland more than it is on the coast.

I have eschewed a number of little and not so little side attractions. On the way to St. Abbs, for example, there were the remains of the castle, which, “though spare were dramatic,” and on other days a cave here and there where a saint performed a miracle, and other such diversions. Today’s no-do was a walk out to Holy Island. I thought, “Do I want to walk three miles out and three back on a concrete causeway on which company is car after car whizzing by? No, I do not!” And am I ever glad I made that choice! There is a way to do the walk along sand and in the water, but when (dependent on tides) and how one can cross in this manner is not publicised and what little (negative) information is given makes it seem that unless you have a personal guide especially trained in understanding the intricacies of the water walk, you take your life in your hands and might never be seen again! Most people who visit Holy Island do it out of religious impulse, I think. That St. Cuthbert’s and St. Oswald’s Way begin there is a clue!

July 30 Berwick-Upon-Tweed

It is a good thing I am writing this account as a souvenir because I can hardly remember from one day to the next! Yesterday the wi-fi would not load any images, so now, due to my being a little bit loopy, narration may not be totally reliable as events are being reconstructed from visual cues.

Coldingham to Berwick-Upon Tweed was a demanding walk, not like the demands of St. Abbs but lots of upping and downing as coastal walks tend to be, and seventeen miles es mucho.

Here is a looking down-ing:

See the birdies?

One birdie:

Now I have to remember the name of this harbour! Burnmouth? In any case it was full of vessels!

And it had a bridge (crossed) festooned with bows:

It had an olde harbour, boasted to be Scotland’s first, only, well, it is olde:

Sheep in high grass!

Cliffs:

Got to Berwick-Upon-Tweed, so now Scotland is left behind, and learned that w, is, on occasion, especially having to do with place names, elided. So, no, it is not Berwick, it is Berrick. And tomorrow, I will not be going to Fenwick, but to Fennick.

In Berwick was booked in a surprisingly nice B and B—you would never know from the outside—run by an extremely personable couple who let me check in early, so I could have the afternoon to explore the environs. Although Berwick is the largest town so far visited (Glasgow and Edinburgh, being cities, don’t count), it does not have a grocery store! OK, it has an Iceland, which has a small corner where unfrozen items live, but it is not a real grocery store. No lettuce, for example. Carrots and potatoes, a few, and butter and cheese they did have. To the large supermarkets you have to drive. ¡Que pena!

One of the attractions of the town is its wall, but that I was leaving for the morrow. Arrival afternoon was spent going up and down Main Street, sadly lined with schlocky stores, and then visiting the museum. Most of the museum was devoted to matters military, but there were two surprises. One was a small Burrell collection—the main Burrell museum is in Glasgow—which had some exquisite pieces: a couple of water colours I wanted to snatch from the walls, but what can you do?

Best of all is that I learned some fascinating things about herring, which I pass on to you. “Herrring was a fatty fish that had to be cured as quickly as possible to prevent it rotting. Packing the fish in salt was the only way to preserve it for transportation. Herrings sold fresh were described as “green herrings.” However, most of the herrings were purchased by firms of curriers, who “cured” the fish by salting and smoking them to make “red herrings,”or pickled them as “white herrings.”

A Fisheries Officer inspected each full barrel before the lit was fitted by a cooper. The barrel was then laid on its side, the bung removed and the barrel filled up with brine. The fish were left to stand for several days while a chemical reaction took place between salt and juices that caused the fish to shrink.

After standing, the brine was poured off and the barrel was filled to the top with more fish. This “tiering” was carried out particularly neatly so that the produce would look good when the barrel was opened.”

Don’t know what happened to the photo with the other half of the herring challenge and a picture of the herrings neatly arranged!

One hopes!

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.

July 27+28 Dunbar.

Bob, on whom I had to depend to get back to Longformacus to begin final, 18.5 mile, section of the Southern Upland Way, would not pick me up before 6:30 a.m., which was irritating, pero qu’est-ce que on peut faire? So at 6:45 I set off, and it was actually a fairly interesting day’s walk. Lots of changes of direction, which keeps you alert, and some variety of scenery, including a wonderful pine forest, and finally, a bit of cliff walking, as this walk reaches the North Sea.

It is fun to take pictures of bridges!

Cairn in gated enclosure with bench and weather vane (‘sup with that?):

The North Sea….first glimpse:

Torrence Taxis, pre-booked to take me the ten miles from Cockburnspath (ck is silent) to Dunbar said, “Sure, call when you are about 1/2 hour away.” I did. No answer. Called 15 minutes later. No answer. Called from Cockburnspath, no answer. As opposed to Longformacus where there was a bus stop but no bus, Cockburnspath has both a bus stop AND a bus, but the bus runs only every two hours and I did not want to wait almost an hour and a half, so called another taxi company and in 15 or so minutes Andy showed up, took me to Dunbar and gave me much useful information. Worth every penny.

This garage—waiting point for taxi—functions twenty four hours a day:

Dunbar is home to John Muir. Here he is as a boy:

John Muir said, “Of all the paths you take in life, make sure a few of them are dirt.” He also said, “All that is perishable is vanishing.” He said many other wise and meaningful things.

Room in Rocks Hotel in Dunbar is more like a cell—not only is it small, shabby, and poorly maintained, but stupidly designed. For example, there is a kettle, but to use it you have to put it on the floor and plug it in behind the skinny wardrobe. The room is also right over the kitchen, so you can smell all the cooking odours. Guess they need some place to toss the old ladies, but they will not like my Trip Advisor review! Anyway, at least the room has good light. Rest of hotel is probably pretty nice.

Oh….the Southern Upland Way….yes, I finished it! I cannot say it was a joy; it was a challenge, so there is a sense of accomplishment. It is a demanding walk for the intrepid and foolish. I am so thankful for having had good weather. For sure St. Medard (weather) and St. Apolonia (teeth) have been following me!!

John Muir link from Dunbar to Cockburnspath was the short (12 mile) route for today. I am so happy to be walking by the sea again! The air is so fresh, the smell almost intoxicating, the wind energising, the rocks a constant fascination.

Dunbar Harbour:

Looks like these remains area about to topple:

Blurry close-up of kittiwakes nesting in the ruins of the castle:

Two varieties of bridge crossed today. High tech:

And low tech:

It is not all beauty. For example, a nuclear power plant—doesn’t it look like a prison?— takes up a good deal of prime real estate:

Maybe, the effluent from that plant is what makes these plants so vigorous. God forbid!

Shoreline:

Got back to room and decided to banish chair, which is dirtier, more stained and worn than shows in the photo, to the hall. Room now has 30% more floor space!

July 25+26 Lauder+Longformacus (Duns)

To recommence the Southern Upland Way, one crosses the Chain Bridge (photo taken when about 2/3 across, so you see, it is really quite long):

which spans the River Tweed:

A VVP (very visible path):

There was an arrow pointing to these here woods, which were very very dark, as in night, except the flash deprives the viewer of that reality:

Turns out that that woodland caper was a circle. Sometimes it is hard to read the signs. A couple of days ago, for example, an arrow pointed directly across a field, but, no, you really had to turn sharp, as in 90 degrees, right.

Anyway, got to Black Bull Hotel at 11:00 a.m.; bags had arrived and lady let me check in. How nice is that! This Black Bull is not like other Black Bulls, and there area many. In fact tomorrow, I stay at a hostelry, also called the Black Bull. This one is elegant, but with one odd feature: the only window is a skylight, which is a bit disconcerting. But the room is spacious, the bed luxurious, and it is quiet.

Made a cup of tea and took out my supplies to have a little lunch when all of a sudden, OH, NO, my temporary bridge has become unstuck! Immediately search on web for dentist, and do find a clinic in the town where I will be staying tomorrow. They can see me at 3:10. This means that hellish walk through moors must be commenced especially early so that prearranged transportation can pick me up in time to make appointment.

E-mail to Suzie to contact dentist in New Haven frantically sent, reply received, instructions to local dentist in hand, so off I went to visit Thirlestane Castle. On the way, passed a pony patiently tolerating a swarm of flies around its face:

I think maybe I am done with castles and Houses and gardens for a while! But anyway, tell me this isn’t a silly hat that the colonel viscount is wearing:

Would a bookstand so large and ornate as this hold a tome other than a Bible?

Here is Bonnie Prince Charlie’s wee bed:

And, his room being en suite, his wee toilet:

And his wee tub:

In case all the relatives could not make it to dinner, they, being deceased or absent for reasons we do not know, could at least adorn every inch of wall space:

Next morning, out the door at 5:45 with determination in every step. Fears for this stage not unwarranted. “Diligence is required to stay on the correct line of the route.” and “…As these moors are so featureless and windswept this section demands respect, particularly in poor weather conditions.” Weather turned out to be perfect, respect was given to the moors, and no wrong turns taken. However, Bob, the taxi driver, who was to pick me up in Longformacus to take me to Duns could not be reached as there was no phone signal, and there is not a single commercial establishment in Longformacus from which to get help. Phone in phone booth does not work; there is a bus stop, but no bus. Do the only sensible thing: flag down a passing car, should one come. And wouldn’t you know it, after a few minutes, one did! Debbie and Louie, who were headed to Duns, took pity on my plight and took me with them. Bob was a pain to deal with anyway, and I would have had to wait two hours for him. My lucky day!

Featureless landscape…with sheep:

Bridge with stone steps:

I am not sure what all the hoo-haw was about the difficulty….OK, there was one section that was daunting, but at least one did not have to make one’s way through grass and stuff like this as this very one had to do on the first half of the walk:

There are two famous cairns en route. Legend has it that they represent two brothers, separated at birth, who fought on opposing sides of a war and killed each other. (Is there is a moral to that tale?)

The brother cairn looks, again, like the 18th/13th century impulse to add or block up windows, only in this case, it is a door…..unless the other one had a door and it was blocked up, and we left not knowing which is the original construction:

Example of VVP (very visible path):

Due to generosity of Debbie and Louie, I made it to my dental appointment with time to spare. Dentist, Paul Dunmore, cemented in the bridge (cost £30), and all that remains to be seen is a) whether it holds and b) if it holds too well, Dr. Fantarella will have to take a saw to it and make me another! I am so high maintenance!

Melrose July 23+24

When you take a wrong turn, you never know whom you will meet:

A view on the way from Selkirk to Melrose:

Following my shadow:

Alex and Alex, if driving tanks over cars dis not satisfy, this could be your next adventure:

Completed the Borders Abbey Way at 11:00 a.m. Photo of Abbey taken from Harmony Gardens a bit away:

Lots of tour busses stop in Melrose so that people can visit the ruins of the Abbey. The town has several upscale tea shops and cafes, an independent fruit and vegetable store (first in a long time), AND a shop selling fine ice cream. Happy to have a rest day here. B and B lady was very nice today and I have a better room that boasts the teeniest frig you ever saw, which makes a big racket, considering its size, but will hold a pint of milk for tomorrow’s coffee.

Because this was a rest day, a long-awaited one, at that, I decided NOT to walk the three+ miles to Abbotsford House, but to take the bus. It is quite intimidating (for me) to take public transportation in unfamiliar places, but I did, and just to add to the anxiety was the fact that the bus did not drop you off right at the place, but at a big, and I mean big, roundabout about 1/3 mile away. Google Maps, however, performed admirably pointing me in the right direction. Of course I arrived early, so there was time to walk some of the surrounding paths, which were heavily treed and quite lovely.

This is Abbotsford House—NOT to be confused with Abbotsbury in England where there are subtropical gardens and a swanery—the home of Sir Walter Scott:

You would think that a tour of its rooms would take up the better part of a morning. Such was not the case since visitors can access only a handful of rooms on the first floor. Quite a disappointment. There are also gardens, but they are of the flowers-planted-in square-beds-variety, so, again, not a thrill.

Sir Walter really liked weapons a whole lot, so to welcome you, as you enter, all the walls are covered—artistically, to be sure— with guns and swords and suits of armour, that sort of thing:

There were a couple of lovely windows:

And more walls of the finest oak decorated with more weapons. That large curved sword at the bottom made me a little bit sick:

The dining table could seat thirty guests. It is rather sparely set, don’t you think?

Good-bye, Abbotsford House:

Lady who directed me back to very big roundabout passed me as I was waiting for the bus. “You are standing on the wrong side of the street,” she insisted. “No, I don’t think so,” I said waveringly, and as the bus was due to come any minute, I did not want to be wrong, which, in these matters, I tend to be. Fortunately, this was one time I got it right, and for £1.70 the bus whisked me back to Melrose where I bought a double-scoop ice cream cone, raspberry jam, which I hope will be as good as the almost finished raspberry jam I bought on Arran Island, some nuts, a loaf of bread, yet to be sampled, and a couple of other things. Mostly, I have been R E L A X I N G, catching up on crossword puzzles. Soon it will be time to head over to the CoOp to purchase the daily ration of chicken. Tomorrow’s walk to Lauder is billed as 10 miles, so that will be almost like having another rest day.

Hawick+Selkirk July 21+22

A departing look at Jedburgh Abbey, which, as you can see was quite grand:

The boys coming to greet me:

Walk today was pleasant in every regard. One did have to keep sharp AT ALL TIMES not to miss a turn, and there were many, but other than a few returns to the previous marker, and some insecure forays across large fields, and eating a clementine at a particularly confusing intersection of vague paths, or non-paths, as the case may be, hoping some dog walkers would show up to offer consejo—which they did!—it was a good day out in the countryside:

I did not have to brake for I saw nary a one:

Reacquaintance with the Teviot, after ignoring Hornshole Bridge but before passing Cocklecooty Cottage (a place on the map, I swear, but not in view):

Just love Bank House, the place I am staying in Hawick! Elegant, discreet building that used to be, would you believe, yes, a bank! This is the front door:

Mirror in the front hallway:

After going up the wide, red-carpeted stairs, one ascends this private, handsome staircase (1857), to a gorgeous bedroom that has two easy chairs, a big bed, tables to put things on and a nice large window:

The woman who owns/runs the place is extremely nice and let me check in at 12:45 when I arrived. She told me tales of people who got terribly lost walking the walk I did today—and I can see how that could happen; miss one turn and you are screwed—but it made me feel very accomplished!

It was such a treat to have a cup of tea and something to eat, take a shower, walk about town and shop for dinner at Morrisons instead of the usual CoOp, and RELAX. Yesterday was the nadir of exhaustion. Feeling much better today. 14.75 easy miles, no rain, barely a hill, little anxiety, piece of cake!

Hated to leave, but off at 6:00 a.m. to Selkirk, penultimate destination of the Borders Abbey Way.

Farm:

Whorsie deciding if he wants to walk, too!

In another field were horses with the longest tails ever:

Came upon some very fresh lumbering and thought, “Ya know, there should be a diversion here,” because for about 1/4 mile had to navigate log jam, which was reminiscent of boulder fields back on Arran Island; they, however, were much more challenging. Here, you had, for help, a non-electric fence whose wires you could hold onto, the top layer was barbed, but you could use the area between the barbs, and there were posts every so often. It was slow, but not horrible. Anyhow, at the end of this unexpected challenge was a stile into a field and a notice ON THE OTHER SIDE that one should follow the diversion (unmarked) while logging was taking place!

Hay:

Selkirk is a town that has many many cars going up and down the main street, but none are stopping for anything, this being Sunday, and, consequently all shoppees closed. ¡Muy raro! Where might all these vehicles be headed? But speaking of shops, there seems to be, in this area overall, an abundance of stores selling carpeting and stuff like that. No store where you can buy replacement hat, but if your floors are looking shabby, why, you will have lots of choices.

Selkirk does have a little museum that tells of life here yesteryear. A person does have to be reminded de temps en temps that the goode olde days were not so good. This was a master bedroom:

Shoes. Until recently, Selkirk produced a lot of shoes because available were plenty of animals that provided hides and oak trees whose bark was used in the tanning process:

And that is it for Selkirk.

Kelso+ Jedburgh July 19+20

“At the beginning the walker has a choice. She can take the standard route or she can take the alternative high route, which is longer, harder, and poorly marked, but the views are excellent.” Not needing longer—almost 19 miles was enough—harder, or getting lost, I opted for standard. All parts of the walk that were not on asphalt (many miles were, though,) were lovely: riparian and sylvan paths, fields, sweet little hamlets and the occasional house. This is the civilised, circular Borders Abbey Way as opposed to the wild, brutal Southern Upland Way, if you see what I mean:

There were sheep still reposing (if repose is a verb):

And cows (bullocks?) already up for the day:

There is the bridge not crossed (or maybe it was)!

Came to Dryburgh Abbey, which offers “a retreat from everyday life and an escape into the serenity of this beautiful riverside monastery.” I, however, could not retreat and enjoy the serenity it promised, for I arrived before the hour when tour busses pull up and such serenity is offered.

By and by I came to a plaque that claimed Newstead to be the oldest town in Scotland. Hmmm, but Traquair is the oldest house and it is not in Newstead. How can this be? Let us assume that both statements are correct. If so, then Traquair is not a house but a HOUSE. A HOUSE does not need a town. In fact, it scoffs at towns. Therefore the houses is Newstead would would be houses, like this, maybe:

while Traquair remains a HOUSE, which is now open to the public and makes money selling tchatchkes. If both statement are not correct, then we area dealing with a blatant case of fake news.

Kelso has the remains of an Abbey (below) and cobblestone streets (not photographed);

Must be pretty tired because I am really thinking about that rest day! Only annoying thing about it is that it is in Melrose where I stayed last night, where B and B is not great, to put it mildly, AND lady who runs it is NNL (not nice lady). She is ML (mean lady).

But on one goes next morning at 6:00 a.m. to Jedburgh, a town that really does boast the ruins of a grand abbey only it was raining when I got there so did not take camera. Too tired to schlep up a big hill in the rain to see old castle and gaol or other sites for that matter, so headed to CoOp where I had to make choice of the day: chicken or salmon. Bought some walnuts. Bag informs that their place of origin is either Moldavia or the U.S., which is hardly informative at all. At the CoOp, if you want to buy an apple, you have to buy six.

A good part of the walk today was along the River Taviot. I do not think that William Mcgonagoll, Scottish poet who memorialised the Silvery Tay, wrote about the Taviot:

There were swan families out for a swim, and duck mothers with ducklings, and ducks without ducklings, and other water fowl. In places the river was lively, the water making a wonderful sound:

The path was overgrown in some places, but this was nothing like looking for BPP, because you are following a river not out on a godforsaken featureless moor:

Lost hat today. That would not be so bad (Have HAT in reserve) except that lost hat has “secret compartment” wherein I had put some ££, so lost that, too. Directions to B and B were just awful as the approach to town is a warren of underpasses and bridges, and streets have names like Abbey Court and Abbey View and Abbey Lane and Abbey’s End. (It kind of makes you want to hit somebody!) Even Google Maps wasn’t helping because it does not do underpasses or walking route through park. Had it not been raining and such a nerve wracking search, I might have gone back to look for hat+££. Hope lucky person who finds hat also finds the secret compartment! Wouldn’t s/he be ever so happy!

Traquair + Melrose July 17+18

Tom, who kindly offered to drive me back to the starting point at 6:30 this mornng was ready at 6:10, and guess what? So was I! So off we went, and I was able to put foot to path at 6:30.

St. Mary’s Loch:

Just so you don’t forget that this is sheep country:

This type of stone construction never ceases to amaze:

About this yar tower, you may read below and become enlightened:

No, I did not. I figured all there was to see was a dark space, and I was in a hurry to get to Traquair.

Dancing tree branches:

It is EVERYWHERE!! You really have to step fancy to avoid it. But better this than the boggy moors!

Today, for the first time, I encountered a walker going in the opposite direction. She was about my size only some fifty years younger, carrying a huge pack with tent and all, and wearing these little flip flop kind of shoes. I could not believe it! She was telling me about all her getting lost experiences, and I was thinking, “Girl, you have no idea what awaits!” Hope she makes it.

The reason I was in a hurry is because I wanted to visit Traquair House, supposedly the oldest continuously inhabited house in Scotland and visited by twenty seven kings. (I assume that by “house” they mean a habitation owned by landed gentry).

There were lovely gardens in which was a bubbly fountain:

And a horse:

And flowers, por supuesto, but I was eating a two-scoop ice cream cone while viewing las flores, por lo tanto, I could not take pictures.

The house would be of immense interest to those who have much curiosity about Scottish history, especially the Protestant Catholic conflict. Why you can see the very bed Queen Mary slept in her last night in Scotland and the bedcover she and her ladies embroidered.

The toilet, apparently for ladies’ use. Men were supposed to use the great outdoors.

Now, THIS, as you can see, is a curling stone, made from granite that comes from Aisla Craig, the island I saw from the train window when I was traveling with the woman who runs one hundred mile races:

I have gained a whole new level of respect for curling. That stone weighs a TONNE!

While I cannot keep up with the kings and queens and executions and heresies and treasons and all that, I was quite interested in the laundry with its impressive collections of irons:

Another deja vu, or, who says you can’t go home again?

An excerpt of what the plaque says about the photo just below:

This is the Point of Resolution, a conservation project and a sculpture conservation. The heather in the sculpture has been cut back to stimulate new growth, so providing a better food source for the grouse, particularly the black grouse.

Sculpture: from the Resolution Point, you will see a series of circles. However, as you move away from the Resolution Point, you will see that they are not circles at all, but huge irregular elongated ovals (the largest is 150 meters long and only 30 meters wide). The sculpture will keep changing with the seasons over many years

As you can tell, the picture was taken from the Point of Resolution! The changing shape depending on your place of looking at it reminds me of the Torosaurus Rex in front of the Peabody.

Pine trees not in the outer circle!

Scenery today:

Lots of hills, easy way finding except when I started going up Hog Hill, which was NOT the way, and then at the end when I walked the final three and a half miles on the stupidest route possible.

This has to be THE place! As far as I was concerned, it was where one has to make a sharp right:

Day just shy of 20 miles. I am tired and wish I had planned a rest day tomorrow, which is when I leave the Souther Upland Way to walk the circular Border Abbeys Way. Rest Day will be on the 24th, after which, I will pick up and complete the Southern Upland Way.

St. Mary’s Loch July 16

At 5:59 a.m. I shut the door to the B and B and headed back the two miles to the path. Today was the last day one needed an extra two miles because it made the total 22.5. “Not a good day to go off the path or get lost,” I mused as I missed the first stile—totally obscure—but added distance was not significant. It rained and was foggy for several hours and there was a lot of road walking, but chootz mizeh (aside from this), there were some absolutely stunning sections only you will not be able to see them because in the rain and fog, I do not photograph, I push on ahead wondering whether I am wearing the best combination of gear.

Even in the rain, this biggest cow I ever saw had to go on record:

So did this cutest bridge I ever crossed:

And there is always water under the bridge:

Lots of great big pine trees:

This sheep is unusual in that it walked toward me. (Sheep almost always run away.)

But then s/he changed his/her mind:

Blueberry bush growing out of a fence post:

At 17.25miles, sweet little stile leading into field in which was big hill to climb, starting the five plus miles to go, near the end of which was another sizeable hill:

Stone circle. I think these have something to do with sheep, but someone else might be quite sure that they were devoted fertility rites or something like that:

Treats for the day: the scenery has changed dramatically. There were no BPPs, or if there were, it did not matter because they were not in HUGE open moorland where you don’t even know where the ground is exactly. Today the ground was solid. Where you put your foot, there it stayed. The grass was shorter, signage improved. All in all, less daunting, although not a town and barely a habitation in sight. This is grazing country and a big lumber producing area, so much ugliness from deforestation as well as much beauty.

It must have been a really arduous day because I had, not a dream but hazy thoughts as I was waking up next morning. “I should go to the University of Chicago,” ran the thought, “Yeah, that would be interesting. But no, that is silly. Yale is right here. I can go there and take some language courses.” Sometimes I can hardly stand being me!