August 5, 2010: Fochabers to Buckie

And so we now made preparations for our last day on the Speyside Way. Breakfast was served in a new room and there did seem to be a lot of guests chowing down. For the last time we brought our bags to reception and had a peek outside; the skies were brightening and we would soon have another glorious day.

We hadn’t made much progress in our continuing debate on how best to get to Aberdeen Airport on the morrow and I did suggest, as Gavan had proposed using the 9:40 bus from Fochabers as part of our journey, that we wait for this very bus now – and make further inquiries of its driver. (An unknown factor was where to change for a shuttle to the airport itself.) Gavan did not want to wait another twenty minutes for the bus in question but, still on the subject of travel options, I did ask a cab driver out front how much it would cost for a taxi from here to the airport. He said there was a set fee on £60.00. Mulling over all these possibilities we at last made our departure at 9:20, heading west out of town on the high street. At any rate we were expecting a fairly easy day, mostly level and only ten miles in distance.

We passed the ornate entrance to Gordon Castle and another unique planter, this time in the shape of a cello. We crossed the busy highway and entered a centennial park that, much to our surprise, bore the date 1776 – the American centennial. Then we dropped down to the river, crossed under a bridge and continued with the Spey on our left. The river was growing ever more shallow and many of the fisher folk we encountered today were standing in their waders in the middle of the stream.

Forest paths lead us toward the sea and then there was a diversion over rough ground for a while as more open farming country beckoned. The wildflowers were lovely and now that we were nearing the sea there were some new specimens. After three miles we took to a track though wheat fields at Bogmoor. Here I was able to announce that I had just completed my 4500^th mile on Anglo-Celtic footpaths. Gavan took quite a few photos and then I took my sweatshirt off. We now had only a mile or so to go in order to reach the mouth of the Spey itself. Coastal buildings could already be seen off in the distance and, after passing by gravel beds at the river mouth and a canal as well we at last reached the North Sea at Tugnet.

There were lots of people about, many no doubt encouraged by news that dolphins often cavort in these waters. We now walked onto the shingle and down to the water’s edge itself but the dolphins were far out at sea today (we could see the occasional splash) so there was not much to see. I chose a stone for my rock collection and we climbed up to the icehouses, interesting structures with grass roofs – the site where many a salmon had been frozen for later transshipment. Next door was the headquarters of the Whale and Dolphin Conservation Society and we entered this and had a look at some video presentations (all the local dolphins had been given names). I bought two juice cartons from the adjacent café while Gavan tried to buy a pair of binoculars for his niece in New York. This was a protracted process since the credit card machine wasn’t working, and I went outside and sat down on a bench in the sun to wait.

We then continued in an easterly direction through the rest of the village of Spey Bay and onto an interesting coastal path through a windswept pine forest, with a golf course on our left. This shady path persisted for a mile or so and near the end we decided to sit down and enjoy our last trailside lunch (and photo). When we emerged from the tree cover, however, it was obvious that we would soon be marching in the bright sun and so I sat down on a wooden raft in the grass and lathered myself in sun block. Then I fished my dark glasses out of my pack and we were ready to begin a mile-long section along a grassy viaduct. Ahead of us we could see both Port Gordon and, two miles further up the coast, our ultimate destination, Buckie.

Little streams crossed our path, feeding into the sea, and on our right cows grazed contentedly while gulls swooped about. I was looking forward to Port Gordon because the pub symbol appeared on the map here but as we marched down the main street of this unlovely village the only pub we passed seemed deserted – a can of paint sitting on a chair outside its front door. Gavan was certain that there must be another but after a thorough search we could find no evidence. Indeed, the town seemed deserted, ghostly in its lack of activity. Was there even a shop? I took a picture at one of the churches – which had a stained glass window featuring sea scenes – and we continued on toward Buckie.

On the other side of Port Gordon we came upon a site opposite seal territory and here we did see the animals in the water and basking in the sun on a little island. I had some trouble finding a sheltered spot in which to have a pee; now we were only a mile from the end and Gavan was asking me to note that you could already see the pale moon in the bright blue sky. I replied that I could see no moon and he suggested I take my dark glasses off. This is I did –but when I renewed my gaze it soon became obvious that there was an additional problem. Beneath my wraparound sunglasses I was not wearing my regular eyeglasses at all!

Needless to say, this was a most unpleasant surprise. I searched my daypack in vain and Gavan even trolled back through all the pictures he had taken in order so see when the missing pair last appeared on my nose. I soon developed a theory – that is that I must have lost them when I was applying sun block as we emerged from the pine forest, some three miles or so back down the coast. Gavan volunteered to go back and have a look but I had another idea. We would continue on into Buckie itself, find a cab, and get its driver to take us back to within striking distance of the spot. This we agreed to do and within a few minutes we had reached the outskirts of this once busy fishing port, a harbor that had all but died when quotas made fishing an endangered occupation.

Two young girls were heading our way, each pushing a baby carriage, and Gavan asked them where we might find a cab. They were very helpful and pretty, dark-haired Allison even walked around the corner with us to point out a street we needed to use in order to find the headquarters of Harbour Cabs. Here, at 4:00, we shouted for attention in the quiet office and a chap named Peter emerged and agreed to take us back up the coast. While he did so Gavan, the map in hand, served as navigator, expertly suggesting a number of twists and turns through Lower Auchenreath Farm. When the cab at last came to a stop I assumed we would now have to retrace some of our steps but Gavan had succeeded in guiding this vehicle to the side of the wooden raft on which I had applied my sun block. Before I had even opened my door Gavan had leapt out and plucked from the grass one pair of very expensive, quite recently purchased Ted Baker frames. Found!

My relief was palpable. Gavan quizzed Peter about his former career as a fisherman (often at sea for two or three weeks at a time) as we drove back to Harbour Taxis. I paid our driver £15 and we asked him about cab rides to Aberdeen Airport; he said his firm charged £52 and he laid out for us all of the other options: cab to Keith for a train or to Fochabers for a bus, etc. We took his card and continued forward, discovering that the Speyside Way seems to have two official endings, one at sea level and one in a little park a bit higher up. Photos were taken at both sites and we continued uphill to reach Cluny Square in the heart of Buckie. We had walked a grand total of 80 miles.

Facing us was the Cluny Hotel (“the pub in the square”) and we decided to have celebratory drinks here before finding our own hotel. The place was definitely on the louche side – with loud telly, tattooed layabouts and smokers haunting the front door. In the men’s room there were caricatures of the customers above the urinals and graffiti additions drawing attention to the size of the bodily part in use below. We had a couple of drinks and ate some crisps and then we went outside to take some photos of the place. Three teenaged girls, a few years away from pushing their own baby carriages, were sitting on a stoop next to the hotel and they demanded we take their picture too. This we did, showing them their images on our camera screens (one of them had stuck her tongue out for Gavan). In the process I managed to lose the old Yashica case in which I had been storing my Canons all these years – the same case that I had been shoving back awkwardly into the pocket of all the t-shirts I had worn on this trip. I had already decided to buy a waterproof Canon case at John Lewis on my return, so I was not greatly bothered. But how interesting – fate had decreed that I must lose something today.

We continued down the A942, passing a gift shop that Gavan wanted to visit and a pet shop and soon finding The Old Coach House Hotel. We made a dinner reservation and grabbed our bags for the trip to the hotel’s second floor. (I shouldn’t have grabbed my heavy backpack with one hand.) Our room was decidedly substandard – one double and one set of bunkbeds! I would have asked for another room but Gavan seemed charmed by the bunks (which revived his ancient camping memories) and so we stayed put – over a generator than never ceased to grind away.

Dinner was also substandard. I remember than when we were in Fort Augustus on the Great Glen Way I had enjoyed Buckie haddock and chips and so I was determined after the fish soup (which I had enjoyed the previous night as well) to have the same entrée in Buckie itself. This was a big disappointment. Gavan started off with some haggis fritters and then he had a fish dish as well.

In our room I phoned Linda and we talked about how I was to pick up Fritz the next day. It turned out that, with the Taggart family out of town, I would be picking up my dog from Georgie. I wrote down all her numbers – and lost this piece of paper too. While I was talking to Linda I experienced a sharp pang between my shoulder blades and I suffered from back trouble for the rest of the night – which was a restless one for me. One thing was at last settled, however ­­– we would, as my treat, take the cab to Aberdeen Airport.

Gavan now called and requested a taxi for 10:30 the next morning so when we got up the next day we had a leisurely pre-breakfast stroll through the quiet town, one of whose churches was celebrating “Keswick in Buckie.” (I had wandered across a band of evangelicals outside Keswick while doing the Cumbria Way many years earlier.) After breakfast I did a puzzle and fussed with my pack and then we went downstairs to wait for our ride, noting that the tattoo parlor across the way was closing down.

A new driver picked us up at 10:30 and we were soon on our way – passing the site of a proposed Tesco just outside of town. We were in the back seat of a people carrier but the seat itself was not bolted down properly so we spent a pretty unsteady hour and a quarter, passing through Keith and some lovely countryside as we sped south. Gavan was worried that I would be carsick but I was okay – except for my sore back.

We checked our backpacks at a special window at Aberdeen airport and, with almost two hours to go before our BA flight, we went to have lunch at the Granite City café. I had a bacon cheeseburger (so did Gavan) and a huge Diet Coke. We had to take our boots off at security and they were also interested in what turned out to be my empty canteen. I read some articles in the departure lounge and Gavan did some shopping at duty free. Our 2:00 plane was fifteen minutes late but most of this had been made up by the time we were reaching terminal five at Heathrow. We bought our train tickets from a machine and jumped aboard a service that was just about to depart. There was no waiting for a cab at Paddington and this made it likely that, at 4:50, Georgie might still be in the park. So I let Gavan in and rushed over to the café, where I was able to retrieve my dog.

That evening we ordered Domino’s pizza, Gavan did a load of wash, all of his photos were downloaded into my computer, and we went to bed about 9:00. He left early the next morning for a short visit to see his grandfather in Ireland and then a return to the States from Heathrow. I know he had enjoyed our outing tremendously. I know I had.

I suppose a final reflection would be that this night of August 6, 2010, when we had at last returned to London after another of our walking adventures, was also a time for me to reflect on the figure who, all those years ago, had introduced me to the pleasures of the footpath, as I had later done for Gavan. For on this very night, forty years ago, my stepfather, Ingolf Dahl (whose biography I had published in 2008) had died in Switzerland.

Footpath Index:

England: A Chilterns Hundred | The Chiltern Way | The Cleveland Way | The Coast-to-Coast Path | The Coleridge Way | The Cotswold Way | The Cumberland Way | The Cumbria Way | The Dales Way | The Furness Way | The Green London Way | The Greensand Way | The Isle of Wight Coast Path | The London Countryway | The London Outer Orbital Path | The Norfolk Coast Path | The North Downs Way | The Northumberland Coast Path | The Peddars Way | The Pennine Way | The Ridgeway Path | The Roman Way | The Saxon Shore Way | The South Downs Way | The South West Coast Path | The Thames Path | The Two Moors Way | The Vanguard Way | The Wealdway | The Westmorland Way | The White Peak Way | The Yorkshire Wolds Way