WALKING BACKWARDS ON JOHNS WAY SECTION 1 OF JOHN MUIR

[wussytoo]

Neil and Russ - Doing the route backwards section by section

PART THE FIRST

Imagine this: two mature but spritely (on a good day) men prepare to do the first leg of the John Muir Way, backwards from Dunbar: welcome to the John Muir adventures of Russ and Neil.

Neil and I have been walking together for a long time: we started back in the ‘90’s as a result of us talking at a meeting to resurrect a scout group. Neil wanted to be in the great outdoors and so did his daughter. I wanted to be a charismatic leader of young people, and to wear a uniform with badges. At least I got the uniform. So we started walking together. Well together would be an exaggeration: for instance, Neil takes photographs of me walking towards him; I take photographs of Neil disappearing over the horizon. Neil is in my phone book as "Neil the Mountain Goat". I want him to do a DNA test to seek out Mountain Goat chromosomes.

For your information, photos show that Russ is the taller of the gruesome twosome. Neil requested that I kneel down to avoid the fact that he is shorter than me. It is important that the fact that I am tall is recognised by any reader. Whatever Neil says. He is fibbing and short to boot.

In the photos, Neil is smiling because, as he is at Dunbar and therefore quite near Geordie Land’. Geordie Land is where Geordie is spoken and Stottie Cakes are eaten, followed by Nukie Brown, a radioactive beverage. Neil is hiding his flat cap and whippet (Zeus) as he is forbidden to be Geordie when he is out. Mo (Mrs Neil) will pull his chest hairs if he is naughty. Mo will pull out my chest hairs if I text the house phone early in the morning again. Mo pays me to take Neil places as he can be very wearing. Neil tends to be difficult, so sometimes we need to re-negotiate “Neil minding” payments. Neil says that the saintly Carol (Mrs Russ) also pays Neil for the same thing. I find this very difficult to believe.

I have just returned to Scotty Land after 18 years exile in Albion’s Plain so we have started walking regularly together again rather than just a couple of times a year. And as I arrived back in the winter, and because both of us are knocking on a bit, we decided that nice, gentle walks with gentle hills would suit us fine, thank you very much.

So we started on the John Muir Way. We started from Dunbar because we are both right handed and that’s where our fingers pointed. We both also conveniently have bus passes so get about very nicely (freely). We are both verging on being geriatric delinquents.

OK. So, Neil and I are rugged mountain men, braving the elements, walking paths in the wilderness, taking aspiring adventurers with us, sleeping in plastic bags, in bothies and doing what bears do. We can rough it. We have roughed it. No problem. Well, not “no problem” because, well, bears are not the only ones who do, well you know, in the woods. I have immodium in my first aid kit.

This John Muir walk is all very civilised. It has little purple and white sticker things and it has toilets. Lots of them. This is important and civilised. It also has frequent toilets, which was a pleasant surprise when the first one was used. It had flowers. Ever so slightly weird. Flowers in men's lavvies is wrong. It is against the roughty-tufty hillwalkers code, and Neil and I are very roughty-tufty hillwalker types. So, at the editorial meeting we discussed the inclusion of this public convenience in terms of the damage being done to the roughty-tufty image, and in the final analysis we believed the truth should be told... And talking of the truth (and jumping ahead a little), so far on this walk we have had no rain to speak of so far. Unbelievable.

So off we go on the first day of the walk. February 25th: co-incidentally St Immodium’s day (I sh*t you not—pun intended). Sun blasting down, wind pretty cold but hey, look at the golfers! Funnily enough I’d been to Dunbar before so I recognised the view that lay before me. I’d seen the Golf Club on the hill before, from a distance but the day then had been gey dreich as they say.

Neil was keen to keep going and failed even to make a cursory sweep for molluscs. He can always “winkle” them out…. But surprisingly his thirst for adventure was overwhelming his hunger for shellfish. And what a delight! Convenience number 2. How poetic. Mind you, no photographs here in the blackness of a converted defence position. But still a convenience. With paper.

In the distance we could see a hill. This was a novelty at this stage. We came to become familiar with “objects that sit on the horizon which can be taken as a reference point”, and which are never getting any closer until you they’ve suddenly popped up to surprise you. This one we discovered, is at North Berwick and is called “The Law”. Which is so wrong.
a) it’s a hill: how can it be a “Law”: surely that means “Low” in proper English? It could be a "High" or even a “Hee” but never a “Law”
and
b) there are several “Laws” around: there’s one near home in the Ochils. I’m told (by Mr Google) that Law refers to a conically shaped hill. Which this one was and still is. But not the Law. Being conical doesn’t mean you get to be called “the”. Sadly myopic I would say.

Anyhoo. It was a beautiful day. Plenty of sun, and a cooling wind. A Sunday with loads of dogs drifting around. You never know with dogs do you? Some’ll stop and look at you coming. Some will bound up to you and look for attention and some will just ignore you. Bit like people. Some will say hello and will be sniffing the possibility that you might be a “hello” sort of walker, some may venture a “hi” or “morning!” on the approach and some may be from Edinburgh and need a formal introduction before speaking.

It being a sunny (but coolish) Sunday morning, many of the local folks were out enjoying the sunshine on the sunny shores. The path took us into the shade of a conifer plantation and also into earshot of engine noises. It seemed unlikely that the llamas at the castle were the source. We were somewhat surprised that they (the llamas) were there but nobody else seemed perplexed so we took it in our strides, took the photos and progressed on.

It turns out there was a motorcycling event on with youths on bikes haring round at great speed. Neil spoke mistily of his days as a motor cyclist, the tours down south and so on. I’d heard them before, nodded and smiled. A man can get justifiably misty about important things sometimes.

We passed the event, and the noise toned down as we approached a bridge over a stream which took us back inland along the river estuary. This was difficult. Neil saw on the map that this was the River Tyne: turns out it was “a” river Tyne. So of course we got back into Stottie Cakes and the Fog on the Tyne (it was mine all mine). We worked out that we were nowhere near Newcastle and that this was a plastic Tyne, created by recalcitrant Scots out of envy. But then again, Neil is a plastic Geordie and a closet Sand-dancer.

The path following the estuary was quite narrow, and sown with dragons’ teeth: fortifications to prevent landings by invading forces in the early years of the 39-45 war. The teeth needed a little dentistry but were clearly there to stay. It was one of those long, straight paths where you can pretty-well see to the horizon, so we spotted the group of ramblers a good 500 metres off (hi viz jackets do that) so we had a long and weary time trying to work out tactics: did we climb off the path; or walk on. Did we say “Hi” to just the first one and nod to the rest. Difficult. But we individually stuck to normal the practice: Me: “Hi” to the first one; “Nice day“ to the third, and “alright” to the seventh. Neil: same intervals but 2nd “Wey aye pet”, 5th “Canny day, marrer” and ninth, "See that gadgie at the front of the geet walla queue?". Neil can be difficult. But we got past and the Rambling Caterpillar seemed pleased. I asked Neil what the last one meant. He said “I divven naw”. Still working on that one.

As we moved “haway man” from the Tyne, the ground got a bit slippy The sun was melting the frozen ground leading to a bit of slippery mud problems. The John Muir lot have done pretty well about separating the path from the roads, but this alternate was a muddy track. No problem for mountain goats but I had some difficulty with the footing.

We moved on back towards the Tyne which had taken a short cut. A pleasant if unexceptional walk via a tunnel by the river followed. It was getting near feeding time. We moved close to a ford with a tree near a bench and a wee bridge too small for vehicles. Neil said we should look find somewhere to sit. I suggested the bench. “Oh that” he said. Neil is short sighted. He cannot see deer in the rutting season and he missed Cairngorm once. I think I needed to mention that.

We were close to Linton and the Phantasie Doocot, a National Trust for Scotland building. I need to say that Neil is into walking. I mean walking. He is not so interested in looking at things. I’m sure he complains to Mo about my wish to see things. I don’t care. I know she hopes that I’ll enculture him, teach him proper English etc. Slim chance. I have a clear but somewhat distant photograph of the Doocot from when we passed.

Actually Neil was quite interested in the water conjurations going on around Linton, with the bits of stream ducting, sluice gates and so on. I liked that too.

We sort of crept through the back door of East Linton, popping up by the church and skirting through the edge of town. The John Muir Way seems funny like that, the path sometimes seems to avoid towns and villages, so it is rare to walk past (or into) shops on the way. The metropolis of Linton and its shopping malls was glimpsed down the road as we headed northwards, following the Way beside the road until we crested the hill to see the valley laid out before us. Useful place to check a map and there's a convenient log.

As we trekked downhill we came across a thing. We tend to come across things. This thing was two buildings which had kept their facades but had been re-roofed to a lesser height to make barns. Open sort of barns, but you could see the intention. In fairness the facades looked iffy, sticking up with no obvious support. So we sort of chatted about this, which passed the time as we began to walk through a low area with rushes but a solid path. We passed by bikes heading back the way and fantasised about using wheels to pass with ease and comfort through the countryside…. like I say, there’s often not a lot to do.

The dogs were good though. Real country dogs, not particularly interested in us but clearly enjoying a nose here and a scent there. I’ve often thought that dogs on the move must feel like someone used to looking at photographs going to the movies. Nice. We finished off the food at a dusty crossroads and worked out where we were. We were working off the John Muir PDF maps which tend to be a bit oddly scaled but were pretty useful. The Way wound wilfully at times, taking us a pleasant diversion through woodland, always a pleasure.

The North Berwick Law became a more and more dominating presence against the clear blue sky, with the Way continuing to jink and shimmy broadly but not directly towards it. The Law is pretty impressive. Obviously, the result of volcanic activity, it was functioning on the day as a playground, an afternoon out and a place to be lovers. Which did not apply to us. The path skirts the North Berwick Law but you can see some sort of thing (another thing) on the top. Probably a hermit’s hut.

We walked through neat and not so neat estates, finding a park with the familiar purple and white discs, and picking our way through the mostly shut town to “the Bus Station”. Which is not a thing. It is a bus stop and also a bus stance according to the white paint on the road. Which both looked the same. Most confusing. And at the end of it all Neil and I got on the bus, wafting our bus passes and chuckling like well, geriatric schoolboys all the way back home.