Angus & Mearns coastal walking

My home county of Fife has a 117-mile coastal path running all the way round the peninsula. The vast majority of the route is away from main roads and it forms a popular expedition for locals and visitors alike. I completed the entire trail a number years previously, doing some sections with my sister and others by myself. Unfortunately I wasn't blogging about my adventures at the time. Public transport connections are largely good, with just a couple of bare spots. Across the Firth of Tay, the County of Angus offers attractive coastal walking in linear form. There isn't a joined-up route along the entire shoreline but I got the maps out and devised several single-day walks. I decided to pick them off between late May and early July when I would be home alone. Nicole had gone to visit her family in Germany.

I had already done a few bits and pieces up this way. I walked the new Dundee to Broughty Ferry path a couple of years back. My folks used to have a static caravan in Monifieth - a few miles north of Dundee - and I had been on the path up to Carnoustie, as well as wandering down to Broughty Ferry. Basically, the current plan is to continue northwards from Carnoustie but I firstly decided to fill in a little gap at the Dundee end. Four or five miles upstream along the Tay estuary would bring me to the Perthshire village of Invergowrie. It would also give me the chance to have another look at the Victoria & Albert Museum that opened to great fanfare in 2018. Nicole and I visited the place with Linda, a few months after opening. Unfortunately we chose the first working day after new year and the museum was mobbed with families as the school holidays were ongoing. I added extra time to my schedule so I could have a more relaxed experience in the galleries today. I drove to the Halbeath Park & Ride on a Sunday morning to catch an early bus to Dundee. The weekly pass I buy for commuting purposes is valid for Stagecoach services across a swathe of eastern Scotland and using public transport in this way enables me to save a significant amount of money that would otherwise be spent on diesel. Quite a bonus when you look at the rising fuel prices. Annoyingly, the first bus of the day didn't show and I had to hang around for an hour until I was finally on my way. I decided to walk just one way between Dundee and Invergowrie as I still wanted to see the museum. Overall, this resulted in a net time gain. Arriving in the city, I passed the Desperate Dan statue on the High Street as I made my way towards the waterfront. In case you don't know, Dan was a popular character in the Dandy children's comic from its 1937 inception to the final issue in 2013. Sales peaked at two million per week in the 1950s but had slumped to 8000 by the end. A switch to a digital platform proved unsuccessful. The Dandy was produced in Dundee and sister comic The Beano is still published weekly in the city. I loved both as a kid. The Christmas hardback annuals were a highlight of the year. Desperate Dan's favourite dish was cow pie, from which he gained enormous strength. I strolled down to the V&A at Discovery Point and admired the quirky architecture of the museum. The Dundee-built RSS Discovery stands in an adjacent dock. The ship became a household name after completing the British National Antarctic Expedition (1901-1904) under the command of Robert Falcon Scott. Now converted to an award-winning tourist attraction, I decided to pay a visit on the next leg of my coastal walking project. Time was tight today.

In truth, I was rather underwhelmed during my maiden visit to the V&A. Design exhibitions aren't really my cup of tea. I once popped into the original London branch but left fairly quickly, much preferring the National History and Science museums literally across the street. But I was prepared to give the Dundee showpiece venue another go and there were a few things that had caught my eye among the hordes of schoolkids, such as the engineering and industrial displays. Upon entry, the initial impression is one of height and space. The lower level hosts the reception desk, gift shop and snack bar but the bulk of the exhibition is located upstairs. A grand flight of steps leads to the upper floor and the interior architecture is certainly impressive. Slate-like wooden flaps are embedded into the walls at irregular angles and the effect is strangely pleasing to the eye. Large windows on the upper concourse provide views of the Tay and a spacious café is situated here. The permanent gallery is free to enter and the special exhibition featured the work of Scottish dancer and choreographer Michael Clark. I decided to give that a miss and saved myself the £11 admission cost. The free exhibition seemed more or less the same as what I remembered from the previous visit. My personal opinion remained unaltered. A few bits and pieces worth checking out, but the material was largely not my bag. Never mind, the building is nice to look at and wander around in. The displays tell the history of Scottish design from 1500 to the present day - from weavers and furniture makers to shipbuilders and digital innovators. A major aim of recent years is to decolonise the galleries - recognising that much of our design history is built upon the efforts of exploited and enslaved people. Scotland certainly punched well above its weight in that department and we are finally coming to terms with our unsavoury past.

The 1707 Act of Union saw many top designers take the opportunity to move south. On the obverse side of the coin, new international markets opened up to Scots traders. I was drawn to the scale model of the Princes Street Scott Monument - the world's largest monument to a writer. There was information about the iconic Forth Bridge - including a fantastic photo of the drawing loft. The ill-fated Tay Bridge also had a presence and I liked the displays on the 1951 Exhibition of Industrial Power which took place in Glasgow. I learned that the Falkirk Wheel is deliberately shaped like a Celtic axe and the Dounreay nuclear reactor was engineered as a perfect sphere with no weak spots. Makes sense when you think about it. Not all design projects covered were successful. The tower blocks constructed to replace the Gorbals slums contained large communal balconies that served as social spaces for residents. Big enough to hang your washing or for children to play games. The theory was people could come together without having to hike up and down the stairs. In practice the areas proved difficult to maintain and fell into disrepair, hastening the sense of isolation. One of the jewels in the museum's crown is the Oak Room by Charles Rennie Mackintosh. On long-term loan from Glasgow, the painstakingly reconstructed interior of Miss Cranston’s Ingram Street Tea Rooms was unseen for 50 years prior to installation at Dundee. The panelling had previously been stored in hundreds of pieces after being salvaged in 1971. The dim lighting conditions (and darkly shaded subject matter) meant capturing a usable photo was out of the question. However, the true atmosphere of the exhibit could only ever be fully appreciated by attending in person. An hour had ticked by and it was time to hit the waterfront trail. A £1 billion pound development is currently in progress, with the aim of reintegrating the city with its river. As traffic volumes grew in the post-war decades, a ring road was put in place but this had the side effect of severing easy access to the shoreline. As I left the city centre behind, a series of storyboards regaled me with tales of the silvery Tay.

One new revelation for me was the attempt by a sea plane in 1938 to break the world record for the longest non-stop powered flight. The target to beat was 6306 miles (held by Russia) and the main technical obstacle was taking to the skies with 2000 gallons of fuel on board. The proposed solution was to mount the aircraft on top of a much larger sea plane which would then release its baby brother in mid air. After getting airbourne from the Tay and a successful separation over Forfar, the onward mission overcame adverse weather conditions but eventually landed just short of the vital threshold. The journey was however the longest ever flight by a sea plane and a record average speed over a marathon distance was achieved. Amazing the things you learn on a walk! A famous marine visitor to the estuary was the giant Tay Whale, which appeared unexpectedly in 1883. Dundee was at the time still Scotland's major whaling port and local crews - usually accustomed to pursuing their quarry in Arctic waters - set about capturing the male humpback. The hunt aroused great public interest and the crews managed to harpoon the mammal but were unable to hold it and the whale broke free, eventually being found dead on Stonehaven beach - about 50 miles up the coast. The carcass was auctioned off and the successful bidder John Woods - who had paid £266 - had the whale towed back to Dundee, where thousands of people lined the quayside to see it arrive. Realising the earning potential, Mr Woods - an oil merchant - charged visitors tuppence to view the whale in his yard. An estimated 50,000 people came. Professor John Struthers of Aberdeen University performed a public dissection and the bones were removed for study. Today the skeleton hangs in the McManus Galleries. Meanwhile, the rest of the poor whale went on tour around the UK. I presume they applied formaldehyde, otherwise it wouldn't have smelled too good!

I passed below the Tay Bridge and noted the ghostly stumps of the original structure that collapsed during a storm in 1879 as a train was crossing. The bodies of 60 victims were recovered but the true death toll is reckoned to be slightly higher. It transpired the two-mile bridge had not been built to rigorous standards and stood for just two and a half years before crashing down. Chief engineer Thomas Bouch did a broken man shortly afterwards. Construction of a far more substantial replacement began in 1883 and opened four years later. A trio of memorial stones now stands on both sides of the river. I was now approaching the edges of the city and had to branch away from the shoreline as Dundee Airport blocked my path. Built on reclaimed land, the facility opened in 1963 and featured a grass runway. This was upgraded to tarmac in the 1970s and various domestic and international services have operated over the years. An important income stream for the airport today is it's status as a golf hub. International tournaments are often staged in this part of Scotland and the sport generates demand for chartered and private flights. On the opposite side of the main road, the University of Dundee Botanic Gardens occupy a high ridge. Well screened from the traffic below, the 10 hectares of plant life provide a relaxing place to while away a warm afternoon. I reached the entrance to Riverside Park Nature Reserve but remained on the pavement as I wanted to make a bus connection at Invergowrie and needed to maintain a steady pace. Nicole and I had previously explored the path network on the reserve a couple of years beforehand. The estuary provides a rich food source for wintering birds. Seals and dolphins can also be spotted. Previously known for quarrying and papermaking, Invergowrie is now a commuter village with a population of 1700. It lies within the traditional boundaries of Perthshire but has sometimes been administered from Dundee. I crossed the footbridge at the railway station and wandered down to the shore for some nice views across to Fife. An uphill hike brought me to the main street and I caught a bus back to Dundee. Annoyingly, my homeward service failed to show and I was forced to wait for an alternative connection that took a convoluted route back to Halbeath. A shortage of drivers apparently.

The following Sunday I bussed it up to Dundee without incident and hopped on a connecting service to the golfing town of Carnoustie. All of today's travelling was being done on my weekly East Scotland commuting ticket. As well as saving on fuel costs, it gives me the opportunity to read, listen to podcasts or simply watch the countryside roll by. I had set off early as I wanted to visit the Discovery Museum in Dundee on the way back from my final destination Arbroath. The weather forecast was for a cloudy day but the sun was trying to force its way through as I arrived in the famous golfing town - which has staged the Open tournament regularly over the years. I attended the first day of the proceedings back in 1999, my first and (so far) only visit to a major golfing event. The Daily Record had teamed up with ScotRail to offer a deal that included your train travel to Carnoustie and admission to the course. I think I had to collect a week's worth of tokens from the newspaper, stick them on a card and send it away with a cheque for £25. Tickets came by return post. That seems like a different world! The internet was gaining popularity as we approached the millennium but it obviously had some way to go in terms of commercial clout. I distinctly remember entering through the main gates and instantly seeing American legend Payne Stewart warming up on the practice green. Aside from being a triple major winner, he was famous for playing in old-fashioned outfits. Sadly, Payne would die a few months later after his plane suffered a catastrophic loss of pressure at high altitude. It continued to fly for a considerable distance before crashing down in a field. It is reckoned the occupants were already dead or unconscious long before the aircraft hit the ground. On a sunny day, I had a great time roaming around the course. I also found a nice spot to sit on the banking surrounding the 17th green. The eventual winner was Scotsman Paul Lawrie but most people will remember the paddling antics of little-known Frenchman Jean Van de Velde at the final hole. Three shots clear at the 18th tee, last man Van de Velde merely needed to approach the hole safely to win the title. Following a wayward drive, he inexplicably went for a risky second shot and hit the grandstand before landing in thick rough. More madness followed. Rather than hack out and still have the luxury of three strokes to win, he took a mighty swing and ended up in the water hazard.

The images of the bare-footed golfer wading into the burn were flashed across the media. Incredibly, he appeared to be seriously considering having a go at striking the ball underwater. Sanity finally prevailed and Van de Velde opted for a penalty drop and managed to finish in a three-way tie. Lawrie triumphed in the resultant play-off and went from solid journeyman to multi millionaire overnight. Winning a major for the first time catapults a player to fame and fortune. It also provides you with a free pass to enter any individual golf tournament in the world for the next ten years. All this eluded the hapless Frenchman and he faded back into obscurity. All-time greats Ben Hogan, Gary Player and Tom Watson have lifted the fabled claret jug at Carnoustie. The course has also hosted the Senior and Women's Opens on multiple occasions. I have kept tabs on the golf scene all my life and I read the information boards on the links with great interest. I also noticed Simpson's golf shop, styled as the world's second oldest. It is beaten only by the premises in golfing mecca St Andrews. I once poked my head inside the door and beat a hasty retreat when I saw the price tags! The walk from Carnoustie to Arbroath is officially designated the Angus Coastal Path by the local council. Signage was clear and I paralleled the shoreline before switching to a cycleway alongside a minor road. I rejoined the water's edge at the old fishing village of East Haven. It seemed a lot of effort had gone into making the area attractive to visitors. There was a community garden (featuring a boat) and various sculptures and monuments on the seafront. East Haven - dating back to 1214 - is one of Scotland's oldest recorded fishing communities. It was proclaimed a Burgh of Barony in 1514 which afforded rights to stage a weekly market and annual fair. The lands were owned by the Maules of Panmure and the mansion house was a grand building. Unfortunately - like many others - it was demolished in the 1950s after falling into post-war disrepair. The settlement was thriving in the mid-19th century and boasted an inn, brewery and bakehouse. Aside from the fishing industry, residents worked as weavers, curers, bleachers, railway personnel and farm labourers. The iron road reached East Haven as early as 1838 and opened up new markets for the local catches. Closure of the station came in 1967, following the Beeching Report. Fishing gave way to leisure as the 20th century progressed and the Royal Family - holidaying at Glamis - were regular visitors.

An unusual roughly hewn granite memorial stood on the seaward side of the village. It is dedicated to the Airedale terriers who performed various tasks on the front line during the Great War. The dogs were trained in the local area and a couple of poppy wreaths had been laid. The terriers carried messages between trenches and were often fitted with specially shaped gas masks. They were also trained to detect injured soldiers and lead rescuers to the correct spot. I had no idea animals were employed in this capacity and I added more facts to my knowledge bank. The remainder of the walk paralleled the railway line to Arbroath and the sea was never far away. Quite a few trains hurtled by at breakneck speed. After passing another links golf course, I arrived at the edge of the town. The fabled golden arches of McDonald's had been visible from quite a distance! Arbroath played a key role in Scotland's history but I intended to explore that heritage on my next stage. The seafront offers various leisure facilities and was busy with families. A little further on was Gayfield Park - home of Arbroath Football Club, nicknamed the Red Lichties. The team is currently going great guns under the leadership of Lochgelly man Dick Campbell and narrowly missed out on promotion to the Premier League. The club has long been in the record books for their 36-0 victory over the hapless Bon Accord in an 1885 Scottish Cup tie. Unbelievably, Dundee Harp ran up a 35-0 scoreline just down the road against Aberdeen Rovers on exactly the same day! I wandered into the town centre and took an X7 bus back to Dundee. My next port of call was the RSS Discovery museum ship on the quayside. Built in Dundee and launched in 1901, Discovery became a household name after successfully completing the British National Antarctic Expedition which lasted until 1904. The southern continent was little explored at the time and the now-legendary Captain Robert Falcon Scott was chosen to lead the mission. Among the crew was Ernest Shackleton, who would himself receive great recognition in later years for his polar exploits. Discovery was one of the last traditional three-masted sailing ships to be constructed in the UK. Although wood had fallen out of favour as a building material for larger vessels, it was deemed far superior to metal for journeys to the ice-bound regions. The ability of a wooden hull to flex under heavy pressure was a crucial quality. Due to the vast distances involved and the limited amount of coal that could be carried, the ship would rely on wind power wherever possible and only use the steam engines when absolutely necessary. There are no ports in the middle of the Antarctic in which to refuel.

I thought the museum did an excellent job of telling the story of the expedition and indeed Discovery's many other engagements. She was placed in her present dock in 1992 and I had visited before - although that was at least 15 years ago and I had forgotten what was on offer. The main entrance to the exhibition hall was undergoing renovation and visitors were first directed to the ship. I had a good roam around and inspected the officers cabins. Far superior of course to the hammocks provided for the ordinary seamen. The engine rooms, social quarters, sick bay and kitchen were also on display. The senior personnel dined at the long table in the wardroom. Everyone received the same food but ate in an area designated by rank. Although the expedition was of a scientific and geographic nature, the day to day life on board was organised along navy lines. Discovery set sail in August 1901 and the voyage did not include an attempt to reach the South Pole. No vessel had ever proceeded further than the coastal fringes of Antarctica and simply penetrating the frozen lands would constitute a fine achievement. The 40-strong crew would be completely cut off from civilisation for a considerable period of time and a huge amount of equipment and provisions had to be carried. This all had to be carefully stowed to ensure ready access and an even distribution of weight. Scott and his associated made several epic sledge journeys on the Antarctic continent and Discovery would surely bring the men home to tell fantastic tales of this isolated part of the planet, along with a bundle of scientific data for the boffins to sift through. The only problem was - the ship had become trapped ice and open water lay 20 miles away. Teams of men began sawing and blasting their way through the frozen prison while relief vessels were sent out to aid the explorers. A deadline was agreed whereby Scott would abandon Discovery should it not escape but fortunately the weather took a change for the better and a rising swell helped break up the remaining ice barriers. In February 1904, Scott set sail for the long journey home and a heroes welcome.

The crew were awarded the prestigious Polar Medal and the officers suddenly found themselves in great demand on the lecture circuit. Scott resumed his naval career but was eventually drawn back to the Antarctic. He and his men perished on a return from the South Pole in 1912. The expedition was hampered by several setbacks and Scott was dismayed upon finally reaching the southern extremity to discover a group led by Norwegian explorer Roald Amundsen had beaten the Brits in the race to our most far flung region. The deflated five-man party began the long return journey but fierce blizzards caused the physical condition of the men to deteriorate. A weakened Edgar Evans died after sustaining serious concussion. The group found itself down to a trio when a severely frostbitten Lawrence Oates sacrificed himself by walking out of the tent to his death with the parting shot "I'm just going outside and may be some time" - thereby relieving his companions of the burden of caring for him. Scott - along with Edward Wilson and Henry Bowers - made their final camp just 12 miles short of a supply dump but raging storms confined the men to their tent and there they perished. These heroic tales are firmly embedded in popular culture but one key figure in polar exploration has been forgotten over the last century. Edinburgh man William Speirs Bruce (1867-1921) skippered the Scottish National Antarctic Expedition between 1902 and 1904 and his scientific discoveries in many ways outstripped the findings of Scott's party. But they didn't grab the attention of the public. Glory (and the Polar Medal) eluded Bruce and he was later plagued by mental illness. He has - rightfully - in recent times been the subject of a BBC documentary and an exhibition at the Museum of Scotland. And what of Discovery? She was sold as a cargo vessel to the Hudson Bay Trading Company to pay off debts incurred by the Antarctic expedition. She shuttled between England and Canada and this often included ice-breaking duties on the Hudson Straits. Discovery was also put to use supplying allies during WW1. A change of fortune in 1923 saw her bought by the British government to function as a Royal Research Ship - which is where the RSS in today's name stems from. A complete refit was undertaken in 1923 and Discovery returned once more to the far southern seas.

All these tales were told in the main galleries which today were accessed by the normal exit door towards the ship. Rather than read the story in reverse, I walked through the displays to the proper starting point and worked my way from there. When the Hudson Bay Company had no further use for Discovery, she was purchased by the Sea Scouts and moved to the Thames embankment. There she was deployed as a training facility and hostel for visiting cadets. The outbreak of WW2 meant requisitioning by the armed forces and the ship was transformed into the headquarters of the River Emergency Service - a network of first-aid stations and floating ambulances. The Sea Scouts eventually regained control but the running costs became too high and Discovery was transferred to the Admiralty who put the Royal Navy Reserves through their paces on the old ship. Public access was permitted and a healthy trickle of visitors came up the gangplank. By the end of the 1970s, the timbers were in poor condition and plans were drawn up to use Discovery for target practice. This caused a media storm and the Maritime Trust stepped in and relocated the ship to St Katherine's Dock where she was officially opened as a museum. Her final journey in 1986 was back to the city where she was built. She arrived in Dundee on a huge transportation ship and by 1992 was settled into her current berth. Owned by the Dundee Heritage Trust, the historic vessel will educate many generations to come. Shipbuilding vanished from the city's quayside in the 1980s and RRS Discovery provides a link to that heavy industrial past.

The next leg of my coastal trail would take me along a picturesque clifftop trail from Arbroath to the former fishing village of Auchmithie. It was a glorious Saturday morning as I bussed it north from the park & ride facility at Halbeath. I was setting off early as I wanted to pay a visit to the historic Arbroath Abbey, or rather the refurbished exhibition centre as access to the abbey grounds had been put on hold due to potentially dangerous masonry.

I changed to the X7 Dundee Aberdeen service and alighted at Arbroath bus station, just a short stroll from the rather dilapidated looking High Street. I picked up a cold drink from Poundland and wandered up to the heavily fenced abbey compound, which wasn't due to open for another half hour. For this reason, I had booked an online time slot for later in the day to avoid any hanging around while I could be walking. This arrangement also suited the limited bus schedule from Auchmithie back to Arbroath. I took a few snaps of the ancient building from angles that circumvented the builder's barriers. Then I was on my way to the high-level path through Victoria Park. I had a look around the Springfield Rose Garden - once part of a large private estate that boasted a fine mansion house but now a public amenity since 1932. Springfield House was demolished that same year after the town council abandoned plans to turn it into a tea room. Now that would have been a prime location! Overlooking the North Sea. The garden is now largely maintained by a volunteer base and has a relaxed atmosphere, although the empty vodka bottles littering one corner suggested some folk had enjoyed a more boisterous stay. I couldn't afford to tarry however and pushed on with my walk. Amazing views of the coast opened up and I was far better placed than those on the pavement below the ridge. The officially signed cliff walk began a bit further round the bay and there was a large car park and toilet facilities at this point. Auchmithie lay approximately five miles away and I had around two and a half hours before my bus was due. This meant was I wasn't under pressure to hurry - although clearly I couldn't dally excessively - and I would have ample time to pause for photographs. It was a clear sunny day and I was sure the camera would see plenty action. There were plenty people out and about - including a group of French bikers on a guided tour. The route is unfenced but the path has a smooth surface and doesn't stray too close to the precipitous drops. We think nothing of walking along crowded city pavements while buses pass within a few feet of us. No reason to feel apprehensive about navigating a simple footpath that happens to have a degree of elevation.

There were marvellous views of various rock formations and the route dog-legged around steep narrow coves, providing excellent views up the inlet channels. The sea breeze kept me cool but there was tangible heat in the sun. I completely forgot to apply cream but got away with just being turned a shade of red. The advantages of having a darker than average complexion! About midway, there was an option to drop down to beach level but I decided to remain on the high path. This involved passing through a shaded glen which was nice and cool. Apparently I missed out on a few caves down below but I enjoyed the views from where I was and didn't have to traipse up and down the stairs. A few tents had been pitched among the low sand dunes and some people were busy fishing. I continued to follow the obvious route and the path become increasingly stony - which certainly registered with me as my walking shoes are nearing the end of their lifespan. I paid £100 for them almost exactly a year ago but I've worn them constantly and clocked up many miles - including back and forth to my place of work. I'll order the same size and style again and have the luxury of picking the best deal online. No need to try them on. Eventually Auchmithie came into view across the bay and I gradually closed in on my target. A farm track led towards the village centre and I had a good 20 minutes to spare. A handful of buses per day run to Arbroath and the service is operated by Wishart's Coaches. This was the only journey I had to fork out for today as everything else was covered by my weekly Stagecoach travel card. The fare turned out to be a bargain £1.90 and I reckon Angus Council help subsidise rural routes such as this.

There was a small restaurant in the village but no general store. I've never fancied living in a place where a journey of several miles is required in order to buy a newspaper or loaf of bread. At least there is some public transport available here, I would never want to be totally dependent on a car. Auchmithie is now a commuter base but its history is steeped in the fishing industry. The famous Arbroath smokie - a whole hot-smoked haddock - is said to have originated here. In the early 1800s, the now mostly-derelict harbour was home to twelve white fish boats, six large herring boats, and around 20 smaller craft searching for lobsters and crabs. The expansion of Arbroath Harbour, coupled with the offer of new housing for experienced fishermen, encouraged many families to relocate further down the coast and the Auchmithie docking facilities fell into decline. The fabled smokie can still be legally produced in the village as the Arbroath trademark applies to any location within an 8-mile radius of the town centre. Curiously, the village square has a cylindrical water tank at its centre. I enjoyed a brief stroll before sitting down by the bus stop to eat my packed lunch. Back in Arbroath, I returned to the abbey for my 1.30pm timed visit to the exhibition. The admission fee was £4.75 which I think had been reduced due to the abbey itself being out of bounds. As I began my tour of the the ground-floor gallery, three separate families enquired at the reception desk but turned tail when they discovered that an only an indoor experience was currently on offer. From the accents, I could tell the visitors were from overseas and I suppose a text-heavy display is challenging for many foreigners, even those who converse well in English. It was however nice to see first-hand evidence of strong international interest in Scottish history.

Arbroath Abbey of course played a pivotal role in the shaping of Scotland as a nation. The landmark declaration - a letter to Pope John XXII from the Barons of Scotland - was dispatched from Arbroath in 1320 (although quite possibly composed at Newbattle Abbey, Midlothian). The plea for recognition was written in Latin and the physical document delivered to the papal headquarters in Avignon has been lost over the ages. The lambskin parchment we now refer to as the Declaration of Arbroath is a copy created at the time and now retained in the Scottish archives. A facsimile of this letter - with its 39 baronial seals - forms the centrepiece of the abbey exhibition hall. The chain of events leading up to the abbey's formation and construction are relayed at the beginning of the tour and we then proceed towards the declaration. An audio-visual presentation adds atmosphere and it should be borne in mind that the pope wielded enormous political power in an age when church and statehood were one and the same. The threat of excommunication was a powerful tool. The pontiff was asked to recognise Scotland's independence and acknowledge Robert the Bruce as the country's lawful monarch. The most frequently quoted excerpt from the letter is "As long as but a hundred of us remain alive, never will we on any conditions be brought under English rule. It is in truth not for glory, nor riches, nor honours, that we are fighting, but for freedom - for that alone, which no honest man gives up but with life itself"

The declaration is sometimes regarded as an expression of contractual kingship - whereby a monarch can be legitimately removed should they fail to perform their duties. This probably gave rise to the theory that sovereignty in Scotland lies with the people as opposed to the head of state. It's an argument you often see in the growing debate about Scottish independence. A potentially messy issue for the courts to sort out. I think. The exhibition was honest enough to admit the "freedom pledge" in the document is not a completely original piece of writing, being largely filched from a chronicle produced in Rome around 40 BC. Never mind - it sure scans well.

The pope replied to the barons and also sent a personal letter to Robert the Bruce. He approved the Scots' aspiration to make peace with England, described Bruce as "illustrious" - even lifting a previous excommunication - but stopped short of referring to him as king. Not the perfect outcome for Bruce, but one that certainly strengthened his position. Political games certainly haven't changed over the centuries. After a few minor skirmishes, a truce was agreed in 1323 and his holiness recognised Bruce as a rightful monarch the following year. Finally in 1328, England accepted Bruce as the King of Scots and the border was redrawn at Berwick - roughly where it lies today. The upstairs gallery told the post-declaration story of the abbey and large windows looked across the grounds. There was also a big screen showing footage from a drone flyover. The truce of course didn't last for eternity and an attack by English sea raiders in 1350 left the abbey heavily damaged. A disastrous fire in 1380 (sparked by a bolt of lightning) caused further destruction and the repairs took almost two decades to complete. The biggest blow came in 1560 when the Scottish Parliament embraced the reformation and cut ties with the Catholic church. This had the immediate effect of rendering abbeys redundant across the country. Stone and timber was removed from the Arbroath site to build protestant places of worship. The earliest conservation work began in 1809 when Robert Stevenson - in town to oversee the building of the Bell Rock Lighthouse - carried out repairs on the abbey. Archaeologists were attracted to the site and later-period buildings overlying the cloisters were demolished to reveal the medieval structures below. Parts of the abbey had been converted to workshops and stores over the intervening centuries. Now in state ownership, work continues to ensure this iconic church will continue to educate and inform future generations. The national press came calling in 1951 when the missing Stone of Destiny was discovered at Arbroath. The ancient symbol of monarchy had been cheekily stolen from Westminster Abbey - where it had resided since 1296 - by a group of Scottish students on Christmas Day the previous year. After three months of concealment, the stone was deposited at Arbroath Abbey, where it was found by the custodian. The town had been selected as a nod to the independence campaign of the time. Back to the present day, plans were being made to celebrate the 700th anniversary of the Declaration and an independence march through Arbroath was (somewhat controversially) announced to coincide with the event. Neither procession happened as the pandemic descended and shut down all public gatherings. With Covid now (we hope) fading in the rear-view mirror and the independence movement gathering momentum again, interesting times lie ahead.

The abbey visit was a fascinating addition to my itinerary. I then took a bus back to Dundee and an onwards connection for Fife. Another excellent attraction in Arbroath is the Signal Tower Museum (pictured right). Nicole and I had stopped by a couple of years ago and I therefore hadn't included it on my schedule for today. Situated near the harbour, the museum enables visitors to discover the intriguing story of the distant Bell Rock Lighthouse (completed 1810), as well as an insight into the town's fishing and maritime past. A marvel of engineering still standing proudly today, Bell Rock is the world's oldest surviving sea-washed lighthouse and was constructed to such high standard that it has neither been replaced nor significantly adapted in two centuries. The lighting technology changed over the years and the last keeper left the lighthouse in 1988 as automation arrived. The museum is housed within the former shore station and the keepers' cottages in the courtyard form part of the viewing experience. In the days before wireless communication, the signal tower and lighthouse relayed messages to each other by hoisting different combinations of balls up a vertical pole. Those at the other end could decipher the meaning through the lens of a telescope. One brilliant human story was the raising of pink or blue clothes to signal that a keepers wife had just given birth to a boy or girl. Who knows if such a system would be accepted in today's gender obsessed society! I highly recommend the museum and admission is free. At one time, Arbroath boasted over 30 mills producing canvas and sailcloth but the last one closed in the 1980s. The fishing industry has also declined in recent years and the town is no longer a designated port for landing catches - a combination of strict EU-imposed quotas and the concentration of the industry on Peterhead up the coast in Aberdeenshire.

The following weekend I resumed my exploration with a walk from Montrose to St Cyrus. I had jumped up the coast a bit from Auchmithie due to the lack of suitable paths. Perhaps one day there will be a continuous Angus trail but for now I have to make do with whatever routes happen to be available. Montrose is a town I've visited many times for football matches and we have also observed birds from the Montrose Basin wildlife centre on a handful of occasions. A Royal Burgh built around a tidal lagoon and with a population of 12000, Montrose is roughly half the size of Arbroath but has a robust High Street. Just being that little bit more isolated from Dundee probably makes all the difference. Aberdeen is some distance away too. I disembarked from the bus in the centre of town and began my walk at the imposing Old and St Andrew's Church, whose 220-foot spire (completed in 1834) dominates the skyline. A walkway ran down the side of the church and between two overgrown graveyards. A straight course brought me to the town museum which is housed in a squat Victorian building dating from 1842 - one of the first purpose-built public museums in Scotland. The three floors within tell the story of Montrose and its people. Admission is free and a visit is highly recommended. General history was covered on the ground level and I learned the last public execution in the town occurred in 1866. An interesting exhibit was a Pictish carving known as the Samson (or Inchbrayock) Stone. Found in 1849 at St Braoch's Church, the stone is decorated with biblical symbols and scenes. There are also several important Celtic engravings. Despite the role they played in the shaping of what we now call Scotland, little is known about the Picts as they left no written records behind. Even the symbols haven't been fully deciphered. The railway buff in me appreciated the Green Train Model - purchased by museum benefactor Lord Panmure in the 1840s. It depicts a locomotive crossing a suspension bridge and the model is made from wood, paper and papier-maché. Effectively photographing the scene was rendered impossible by the glass case reflecting yours truly.

The middle floor had a maritime theme, reflecting Montrose's status as a port town. The fishing industry peaked in the 19th century and the domestic market centred around haddock and cod. Exports of salmon and lobster was a lucrative trade but the introduction of motorised vessels prompted a shift towards larger and deeper harbours. Flax spinning and linen production required raw materials to be imported from Baltic cities. Montrose was Scotland's second biggest timber port during the Victorian era (Greenock being the main facility) and huge quantities of wood arrived from Canada and Scandinavia. The increased usage of iron and steel for building projects caused the decline of this market. The upper gallery housed a fine collection of stuffed birds and other animals found across the wider Angus area and the accompanying text was informative. I also perused the special exhibition of painting by local watercolour artist and historian James Gray Low (1855 - 1944). His large collection of town scenes dates from the 1870s and provides vital glimpses of Montrose in days gone by. Excellent stuff! My curiosity satisfied, I left the museum and headed towards the northern edge of the town, hooking up with the route of the first railway line to reach Montrose. The Aberdeen Railway was fully open by 1854 and ran from the centre of the Granite City to Forfar - the County Town of Angus. A short branch served Montrose and the original passenger station was situated near the harbour. This link was freight-only after 1934 when passenger traffic was concentrated on today's East Coast Main Line. I followed this pleasant curving path and passed the site of the old junction with the Inverbervie branch (more about this route shortly). After walking through a short tunnel below the A92, I came up to street level and let the pavement lead me out of town. The official Angus Coastal Path had diverged a few hundred yards further back but I wanted to explore the railway heritage and - besides - the map revealed the signed route doesn't actually skirt the sea in this neck of the woods. I soon re-joined the "proper" path and began following the direction arrows to North Water Viaduct.

No matter how often you read about vanished railways or trace them on maps, you can never replicate the experience of boots on the ground. Research of course provides an invaluable overview but the only way to truly appreciate the geography of an old line is to get out there and walk it. I also find that I'm far more likely to delve into the history of a railway if I've actually seen what's left of it. I had long known of the Inverbervie branch and had seen a snatch of embankment at St Cyrus Nature Reserve but I didn't realise it was connected to a far older railway or that Montrose had once been served by two stations. I was now walking upon the old Inverbervie track bed but the path then switched to a purpose-built cycleway alongside the A92. Then it was back to the railway course as I approached the mighty viaduct. I took the opportunity to descend a wooden staircase to road level in oder to view the arches before climbing back up and strolling across. This gave me a bird's-eye view of the A92 bridge which itself is an impressive piece of engineering. Set against the gently undulating green scenery, a rather attractive photograph was snapped. The seven-arch road bridge is actually the older of the two North Esk crossings, here on the boundary between Angus and Kincardineshire. Completed in 1775, a toll house was included to collect payment from early travellers. The A92 bends sharply at either end of the structure, now referred to as Lower North Water Bridge. The railway viaduct rises to a height of 75 feet above the river and has 11 spans in total. The five river arches are on a slight skew and the entire structure is impressive. The last train crossed in 1966 following closure of the Inverbervie branch. Repairs in the early 90s were followed by the conversion to a footpath. The railway line originally opened in 1865 and remained a quiet backwater for the duration of its existence as link-ups to other proposed routes failed to materialise. The proliferation of privately financed railways in the 19th century inevitably produced winner and losers. I suppose the benefit to the government was that an underperforming line was somebody else's problem.

Eight passenger halts were provided but the ever increasing growth in road transport during the 20th century meant the route was living on borrowed time. Passenger services were withdrawn in 1951, by which time only three return trips per day were operating. One daily goods train continued until 1966 when the end finally came. After crossing the viaduct, the path descended to river level and I followed a quiet minor road towards St Cyrus Nature Reserve. The unmanned visitor centre lay a mile distant but there wasn't much on display other than a handful of information panels about the local area. Nicole and I had been here before on a couple of occasions. There is a beautiful beach stretching a couple of miles and towering cliffs encircle the bay. Paths through the grassland also form part of the reserve and there is a sunken icehouse, previously used for storing salmon catches but now a quirky private residence. Today I opted to walk along the beach and an elevated wooden walkway led towards the dunes. The land below was a dry riverbed, now engulfed by vegetation. But where was the flowing water? In 1879, a violent storm caused the swollen North Esk to burst through the sand dunes further down the coast and cut a new, permanent course to the sea. This was the same year the Tay Bridge collapsed during inclement weather 50 miles away in Dundee. I couldn't help wondering whether the two events were connected. The wind was whipping up the sand as I plodded along, my feet sinking slightly - an impediment you certainly notice after a mile! I knew the village of St Cyrus lay just back from the cliff tops and I could just make out the top of a church spire poking above the horizon. That gave me a bearing to follow and as I got closer to the target, I was able to discern the path running up the cliff face on a single switchback. A sign informed me the access route had been created in 1882 and I took it nice and easy up the sharp incline, pausing regularly to admire the views up and down the coast. Once on top, I headed past a pretty church and into the village itself, crossing the overgrown trackbed of the old railway en route. I picked up a snack from the shop and awaited the arrival of the X7 bus to whisk me back to Dundee.

Another week passed and the forecast for the coming Saturday was excellent. I had marked out an 8-mile trek from St Cyrus to Inverbervie - passing through the fishing villages Johnshaven and Gourdon - on a path that actually appeared to hug the coast all the way. Beyond Inverbervie, there didn't appear to be any viable walking routes until you approached Stonehaven, where a clifftop path led to Dunnottar Castle a little further down the coast. Now that was interesting. Nicole and I had stopped at the castle - which stands on a rocky headland - the previous years and had admired the spectacular fortress from a vantage point near the car park. No visits were possible due to Covid and to be honest I was perfectly happy to look down upon the castle from above. We had driven out from Stonehaven after our planned walk around the town was scuppered by a sudden downpour. I noted the existence of the path and resolved to come back and walk it one day. Well, now I had the perfect opportunity to round off my exploration of the Mearns coast at the old County Town and I decided to search for some cheap accommodation in order to complete both projects over the same weekend. As luck would have it, Booking.com offered a single room at the Crown Hotel, Inverbervie for just £36, including breakfast. Perfect! I could simply bus it from there up to Stonehaven on the Sunday morning. The weather forecast wasn't as good for that day but it would apparently be dry. Good enough for me. The late Marvin Aday (better known as Meatloaf) once sang that two out of three ain't bad. In terms of the Scottish climate, one sunny day out of two is a ratio I was prepared to readily accept. I set off early on a bright Saturday morning and I had planned my schedule so I could enjoy a leisurely walk along the coast and have plenty of time to pause for pictures and eat lunch. I expected to arrive in Gourdon around 3pm and this would give me ample time to visit the Maggie Law Museum. A change was enforced when I discovered my bus from Dundee was only going as far as Arbroath due to a driver shortage. That meant hanging around for an hour until the next Aberdeen service rolled in. Not to worry, I would simply press on when I reached St Cyrus and keep refreshment stops to a minimum. The museum was open until 4.30 and I was confident I would make it.

I hopped off the bus at St Cyrus and made my way to the cliff path. The initial going was good and a wide grassy way had been freshly cut. I then reached a sign informing me the route was closed from this point onwards due to footpath erosion and that pedestrians proceeded entirely at their own risk. Reckoning that these measures err heavily on the side of caution, I decided to proceed gingerly and jump into the adjacent field should the way ahead look dodgy. As it turned out, the path wasn't too bad although I did use the field option at one point where the trail was overgrown and rather close to the edge. I omitted the St Cyrus to Johnshaven section on the main website as I don't want to send people to potentially difficult terrain. Having traversed the cliffs, I descended to sea level and cut through a farm and dropped on to a pebbled beach. The grass path had suffered storm damage here and picking my way along the shoreline was preferable to entering the farmer's territory. The Outdoor Access Code does permit you to skirt field edges but I avoid it wherever practically possible. I rejoined the land at the hamlet of Tangleha' and progress was straightforward from here. I did have to make a quick detour through a caravan site where the path was again eroded but this didn't pose any problems. Happily, I saw noticeboards outlining the intention to fully restore the coastal walking route. I passed some interesting red rocky outcrops and spotted the crumbling remains of a limekiln as I approached Johnshaven. The kiln apparently burned coal shipped up the coast from Fife, but ceased to function as far back as 1836 due to cheaper imports of lime from England. The coming of the railway in 1865 must have transformed life for the villagers who until then had lived in a pretty remote location. I strolled past the quaint fishing cottages and reached the harbour which was obviously used for lobster and crab landings, due to the sheer number of pots stacked by the quayside. A fish festival takes place here in August, attracting thousands of visitors. The Lobster Shop stands in a prominent location and supplies fresh Scottish seafood to UK and European wholesalers, food retailers and restaurants. There was a bar and tearoom in the centre of the village but I didn't intend to tarry here as I wanted to stay on schedule for the Gourdon museum. I couldn't resist setting foot inside the Johnshaven Heritage Centre though.

As soon as I stepped through the door was greeted warmly by the two elderly female volunteers. There was an exhibition on the recent Platinum Jubilee and the 1953 Coronation but - much as I adore Her Maj - I went straight to the displays about the history of Johnshaven. The last train in 1966 was a special passenger charter that sold out two runs of six coaches. If only the public had used the service in greater numbers when the service was initially withdrawn in 1951. One of the museum guides could actually remember travelling by rail to Montrose as a little girl. A sad tale from the past was the violent storm that hit the east coast of Scotland in 1848. Dubbed Black Saturday, Johnshaven lost eight men to the sea, leaving behind four widows and 20 children. Long line fishing was practised in the area until the 1960s. The womenfolk baited the 1200 individual hooks (after hand-shelling the mussels) and six fishermen in each boat would look after their own line that was approximately a mile long. If you were lucky enough to come home with a good catch, the fish then had to be gutted, processed and distributed - which often meant long walks with a heavy creel. A hard life indeed. The museum was housed within the old lifeboat shed and the crew who staff these vessels do so on an unpaid voluntary basis. It is a risky calling and one display related the story of the James Marsh disaster in 1920. The lifeboat of this name went to offer assistance to a Danish vessel that had sustained serious damage during a winter storm. Despite the terrible conditions, James Marsh quickly reached the stricken Fredensborg but the captain refused to abandon his ship - believing it could still be saved. This situation persisted for several hours until the Danish skipper finally relented. Seven men were rescued and the James Marsh set sail for Johnshaven Harbour. Unfortunately she was struck by a huge wave in full view of the villagers who had gathered to watch the lifeboat return home. Two Danish sailors and Scotsman James McBay were drowned in the aftermath - the latter man being the only one whose body was recovered. An interesting little heritage centre and one in which I would have liked to spend more time.

I left Johnshaven behind and followed the obvious footpath alongside the shore. I could see Gourdon in the distance and I calculated I would have just over half an hour at the Maggie Law Maritime Museum which would most likely be sufficient. The old railway trackbed was right beside me and a part of it had been converted to a farm road. I hopped over for a spell in order to put boots (or rather my new walking shoes) on the line. I had purchased the same brand of footwear again for £130. I knew I would get a full year of comfortable walking before they started to degrade. I passed Gourdon Harbour, the smell of fish & chips wafting across from the Quayside Restaurant. I planned to take a rest on a bench here but first I had to check out the Maggie Law Museum before it closed. Two male volunteers were on hand to greet me and give me a brief rundown of Maggie Law's story. She is in fact a 30-foot shallow drafted surf lifeboat whose construction and upkeep were funded by local fishermen agreeing to a levy of a penny in the pound from their catches. In her period of operation from 1890 to 1930, Maggie Law is reckoned to have saved 36 lives around the notoriously rocky harbour mouth. She was quick to launch and rowed by a crew of six men. The museum opened in 1997 and is located within an old coastguard station. The ground floor contains the boat and lots of related maritime memorabilia. The upper gallery - also doubling as the the museum office - had further information boards informing visitors of the local area's connections to famous ships, such as Cutty Sark and Titanic. The legendary clipper ship - now permanently docked at Greenwich - was designed by Hercules Linton, a native of Inverbervie. The museum features a beautiful model Cutty Sark - kindly loaned by Martin Woodget of Abingdon. He is the great-grandson of Captain Richard Woodget - master of Cutty Sark between 1885 and 1895. The Gourdon link to the ill-fated Titanic is through John Cargill - helmsman on Carpathia, the first vessel to respond to the SOS call from Titanic after she struck an iceberg. By the time Carpathia arrived on the scene, Titanic had sunk below the waves and surviving passengers and crew were drifting around in lifeboats. In total, Carpathia saved 705 people from certain death. The museum website has a fascinating video clip of John describing the events of that fateful night in 1912, recorded a year before his death in 1980. I put a donation in the box and signed the guestbook before heading back to the harbour for a seat. I could take it easy on the final stretch to Inverbervie as I was no longer under any pressure to arrive by a certain time. It turned out to be a pleasant stroll upon a smooth tarmac path that followed the course of the old railway.

I finally reached Inverbervie and bought some food from the Co-op to eat in the grounds of a church. The Crown Hotel was right in the middle of town and the rooms were situated above a restaurant and public bar. The website had said I was in an attic room with shared bathroom but I was allocated an ensuite single room on the first floor which was clean and comfortable and had sachets of coffee which were most welcome. It was Paul McCartney's 80th birthday and I watched some of the tribute show on the BBC before heading down to the bar for a couple of pints. There was no cask ale on offer but Caledonian Best was an acceptable alternative and the £3.70 price very reasonable in this day and age. The place was obviously popular with locals and there was a good crowd in, enjoying their Saturday night. I found a seat at the bar and was quite amazed to witness a bloke order a rare whisky at £18 a nip. I couldn't help thinking that if I shopped around, I could almost buy a full bottle of malt for this sum. Back upstairs, I listened to the radio and fell into a deep sleep. It had been a lovely day's walking in ideal weather conditions. Hopefully the entire route will be fully restored in the near future as it could be potentially one of the great Scottish coastal walks. The presence of the two fishing villages en route enhances the experience and allows people to create shorter variations. After a hearty breakfast, I boarded the 9am bus for Stonehaven. It lay just 20 minutes away and the whole X7 route was open to me on my East Scotland weekly ticket. The A90 and A92 meet just outside Stonehaven and the county town of Kincardineshire has a population of just over 10,000. I wandered down to the shore and picked up the popular Bay Walk. I proceeded towards the open-air heated swimming pool that opened back in 1934 as the UK's northernmost lido. The pool is Olympic size and the clean sea water is heated to a balmy 29 degrees but it wasn't possible to see into the walled compound - and I hadn't brought my trunks! A threat of closure was staved off in the 90s and the facility is now run jointly by a friends group and the local authority.

A point of geographical interest is the Highland boundary fault, which terminates just north of the town. You can see it outcropping on the coast, just beyond the swimming pool. The fault divides Scotland into two distinct geological zones and runs on a northeast axis from Arran in the west. Apparently the course of the fault is easily discernible from the air but Stonehaven is one of the few places where you can see clear evidence at ground level. I turned around and walked back towards the harbour, passing a series of model ships built from scrap metal. They began appearing mysteriously around the bay in 2006 which led to the unknown creator being dubbed the Stonehaven Banksy. His real name is Jim Malcolm, a retired welder. In his one and only interview from 2019, he claimed "I'm not an artist. Just a guy who sticks metal together" - but his work looks good to me and is now properly mounted. I witnessed several passers-by stopping to admire. Now that I think about it, I believe he may have been tracked down fairly recently by the Out of Doors show on BBC Radio Scotland. The harbour was once a thriving fishing hub but is now mainly used for recreation. A few working boats remain, along with the headquarters of the Maritime Rescue Institute. The fish market is long gone and today's catches are predominantly prawns, lobsters and crabs. White fish landings are transported onwards to Aberdeen to be sold while shellfish are sent directly to processing factories. A famous visitor to the port in 1883 was the carcass of the Tay Whale - whose efforts in avoiding capture in Dundee had attracted great media interest. It was later found dead and was towed to Stonehaven to be auctioned. The full account appeared earlier in this very post. From the harbour area, a signed walk leads out to Dunnottar Castle, a couple of miles down the coast. I quickly gained height on the pavement and was soon strolling along the high ridge looking back down upon the town. It was a grey day and threatening to rain, but fortunately the weather stayed dry. An added attraction en route to the castle was the Stonehaven war memorial. Construction began in 1921 and was a deliberate attempt to mimic a ruined Greek temple - thus symbolising the many shortened lives caused by the conflict. The memorial sits on a small peak and I wandered up to take in the views.

Dunnottar Castle played a crucial - yet little known - role in Scotland's history as a nation. The crown jewels were hidden here during the Oliver Cromwell Interregnum in the 1650s - when a republic was declared following the trial and execution of King Charles I. The crown itself almost certainly dates from around 1540 - when it was remodelled on instruction from James V. Along with the sword and sceptre (collectively titled the Honours of Scotland), the crown epitomises the ancient realm and is precious beyond price. Cromwell was horrified when Charles II was crowned as King of Scots at Scone in 1651 and dispatched an army northwards to capture the Honours so that he might destroy them, as he had the English Regalia. As the Cromwellian forces closed in on Dunnottar, the Honours were secretly conveyed to the manse at Kinneff - a few miles south. It is not known exactly how the crown was smuggled out, but one legend states it was lowered to an old woman collecting seaweed on the shore and she then walked past the besieging soldiers with the Honours concealed within her large wicker basket. The precious items were buried beneath the floor of Kinneff Church and dug out every three months for an airing. The English army searched in vain for the prize. Charles II was eventually placed upon the throne in London and the Scottish Honours were returned to Edinburgh. The Scottish Parliament was dissolved in 1707 as a result of the Union with England and the Honours locked away in the Crown Room. There they lay for over a century. In 1817, novelist Sir Walter Scott obtained a warrant to break open the chest, and the ancient symbols of the Kingdom of Scotland were rediscovered. From that day to this, they have been on public display at Edinburgh Castle. I think I am doomed never to see Dunnottar lit by sunshine but I did obtain a reasonable picture of the historic castle in its dramatic setting. Back in Stonehaven, I had half an hour to kill before the Tolbooth Museum opened. I knew the Ship Inn by the harbour sold real ale and I took a seat at the bar and ordered a pint of Northern Light from the Orkney Brewery. It set me back £4.60. Welcome to post-Covid pub prices! I posted a few pics from my morning walk and was amused when an American lady arrived and asked to sample each of the two real ales (a common practice in such establishments) before settling on - wait for it - a pint of Tennent's Lager. Oh well, at least she didn't go for Budweiser.

I wandered over to the Tolbooth Museum and found it to be a veritable treasure trove. The upper floor is occupied by a restaurant and the museum underneath is stuffed to the gunwales with memorabilia relating to Stonehaven and the County of Kincardine. The building itself is the oldest in town and was opened as a public museum in 1963 by the Queen Mother. It originally served as a store for Dunnottar Castle and later used as a courthouse and prison when Stonehaven became the county town in 1600. Now Category-A listed, the museum was slated to close in 2011 when the local authority withdrew financial backing. Thankfully a group of volunteers stepped into the breach and now operate the facility on a weekend afternoon basis. The ethos of the museum was purposely altered from one of a fairly static display to a place that reflects the vibrant Stonehaven community. I read about the Hogmanay fireball ceremony that has been going for at least 100 years and probably has its roots in an ancient practice. Visitors to the museum have been attracted from over 70 countries and a group of Brazilians were present at the same time as me. I cannot stress how warmly the guides greeted everyone at the door. You simply have to pop in if you find yourself in Stonehaven during opening hours. It was time to catch a bus back down the road and I purchased some snacks from the town centre Co-op to eat on the journey. The shop was located in the corner of a grand building that still displayed the slogan "millinery and outfitting" on the stonework. Obviously a major emporium at one time. I had coordinated a seamless set of homeward bus changes but that was knocked out of kilter when we broke down shortly after leaving Arbroath. We transferred to another vehicle as I contemplated the prospect of having to hang around in Dundee for an hour. Luckily, a St Andrews service was just about to depart and I jumped on that, alighting at Guardbridge to hook up with an X24 that passed through Cairneyhill. Quite a nifty piece of travel plan amendment.