Castle, Cliffs and Caves

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07/10/24

We moved on from Aberdeen to Port Errol. This is a justifiably popular overnight stop with the Bay of Cruden right next door. This sweeping curve of golden sands was, in the early 20th century, hoped to be a tourist draw. Advertising used the name ‘Cruden Bay’ and subsequently the name was adopted for the village. Unfortunately the attempt to make it a significant destination never really took off and the railway that was destined to bring the affluent tourist was closed barely 30 years after it was opened.

Parking at Port Errol

The place is so popular with motorhomes that we decided to park by the church before walking down to check out the parking. When we turned up there were only 3 vans parked up and so we easily found a spot to face the sea and at the same time gain some slight shelter from the wind. That night a total of 13 vans ended up staying. A huge number, taking up the majority of the car park, but many people arrived late and moved on early so luckily didn’t create too much of a problem for the local people who came down to enjoy the sea. Someone on Search for Sites had mentioned a maximum of 5 vans per night, but I couldn’t see anything on the website or the notices to suggest any limit. They do ask people to stay for a maximum of 3 nights in any 10.

Getting busy at Port Errol

Hopefully all of the tourers donated to the harbour trust. The organisation that looks after the harbour and surrounding area suggest that overnighters pay £10, plus extra for water. In theory they should be making a decent amount given the number of vans. The harbour trust also maintains the immaculately clean toilets which we needed in order to extend the life of our toilet cassette.

Next to the harbour there is a little cafe that was also incredibly popular, so much so that we tried to go in three times over the weekend and were only successful on the Monday morning when we had a nice breakfast roll (Paul) and slice of cake (me).

Exploring Cruden Bay

We spent the morning watching the kite surfers, mesmerised by their activity in a sea being whipped to foam by strong winds. Bertie developed a light coating of sand and salt (something we made a note to wash off at the next opportunity).

Watching Kite Surfers while trying to avoid the wind

Later, when the weather improved, we popped out for a wander around the village. We wondered why there was a row of Norwegian flags along the edge of some parkland and then realised that they surrounded a monument celebrating the first flight across the North Sea. Tryggve Gran was the daredevil who set off on this mission only days before World War One broke out. He was later to fly for the British forces. He sounds like the sort of person who would take on any wild or dangerous activity, an expert skier who travelled with Scott on the Terra Nova expedition, a keen motorcyclist and also a skilled footballer who played for his country (which may not have qualified as a dangerous sport).

The local shop had some early photos of the village in the windows and we enjoyed working out how they had changed over time. Fishermen are one of the most superstitious groups of people – quite understandable given the risky and unpredictable nature of venturing out to sea – and didn’t like living in buildings of more than one storey. So most of the cottages had started life as single storey dwellings before being gradually improved and updated. As a result a lot of the cottages have very similar ground floors but slightly different second story designs.

Crossing the ‘Ladies Bridge’ takes you to the beach which was still pretty windy so we immediately retreated as my contact lenses couldn’t cope with the flying sand. The Ladies Bridge was so called because it was funded through a collection from the ladies of the area.

View from Ladies Bridge towards the beach

We then climbed the oddly springy grassy bank above the harbour to get a view from higher up. In the distance we could see Slain’s Castle, our destination for the following day.

View of the outer harbour

Swimming in Port Errol Harbour

By the time we got back to Bertie the sun was definitely trying to come out. The harbour became a sun-trap, mostly protected from the wind. The tide had filled the harbour basin and I had a sudden desire to get in the water and try out my new swimming gloves. Much to the amusement of one older gentleman who was sitting in his car, Paul and I ventured into the clean waters in swimming cossies, hats, wetsuit shoes and wetsuit gloves. Those gloves are a game changer. Usually I will stand around for several minutes trying to acclimatise my hands to the chill, but with my extremities covered I was straight in and Paul wasn’t far behind me (he does have one sensitive area it’s difficult to protect) and we spent a bracing few minutes swimming. I was relieved when another person turned up for a swim, we weren’t alone in our madness.

Enjoying the tingle of cold water in Port Errol harbour

A walk to Peterhead

The following morning we packed a lunch and set off for Peterhead following the coastal trail. First of all we had to head back up to the church and take the woodland pathway from the end of the car park we’d briefly stopped in the previous day. The path follows a stream through woodlands and climbs onto the cliffs while the stream drops into a gully and joins the sea.

The burn joins the sea at ‘The Donnons’ a couple of islets close to the shore.

From here we could see New Slain’s Castle, a derelict red sandstone building with towers and walls mostly intact, but roofless with empty windows. According to the information boards it was sold in 1916 because the family could no longer afford to maintain the castle and lands. Eventually it was sold on to a demolition company who made more by selling off building materials than they paid for the building.

The castle has literary connections. It is said to have been an inspiration for Bram Stoker’s Dracula. And although that may not be true (Whitby tends to make that claim), the author definitely spent time writing the novel in the area and set a couple of his other stories in Cruden Bay. Johnson and Boswell also spent time at the castle while touring Britain.

Approaching New Slain’s Castle, built in the 17th Century.

Warnings abound that the building is not safe, but there is little to stop people from wandering around it. We couldn’t help ourselves as we roamed through the crumbling ruins, finding graffiti carved into the soft stone and and climbing it’s towers. There is something compelling about buildings that fall into ruin. The waste of craft, all those artisans who poured their skills into the building, and the loss of heritage. If we didn’t let some things decay and fall by the wayside we would never see change and development, but what survives and what doesn’t seems so arbitrary.

The coast from here is even more spectacular than the castle. Caves, arches and stacks abound and around each corner there is more to take in. The path wriggled back and forth as it navigated gorges and inlets. Along the way was ‘Bullers of Buchan’,  a small fishing village that takes its name from one of the most interesting of the features, a once vast sea cave which has collapsed to leave a steep sided inlet where the sea enters noisily through a narrow arched entrance. Sea birds whirled around the cliffs and lone seals bobbed in the inlets. In spring this must be teeming with nesting birds on the rocks.

After Bullers of Buchan we found quarries carved into the rocks and used their shelter to hide from wind that was building up. We ate some of our lunch before moving on and finding the same disused railway line that once was intended to bring tourists to Cruden Bay.

Drizzle started to fall and sting our faces with the force of the wind. For a while the views took our minds off the unpleasant weather but when we reached Boddam we decided that it should be the end of our walk. Going any further to Peterhead, past sewage works, prison and powerstation was not going to have the same distracting effect. Unfortunately the bus wasn’t due for another 50 minutes. In vain we searched for a cafe where we could have a hot drink and slice of cake, but there was nothing local. In the end we used the bus shelter to provide us with protection from the weather and eat the remains of our lunch.

Buchan Ness at Boddam. The end of the walk.

 

 

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