BULLERS O' BUCHAN

Early last Sunday morning, having remembered to adjust my watch to BST, and having established that it was now 6am, I went to the bathroom of room 57 at the Premier Inn (West Central, Aberdeen) and eyed the facilities suspiciously. As I thought, the shower was in the bath, and this was no good to me. I am slightly disabled with miatonia congenita (a hereditary muscular condition) and the lingering effects of a knee condition (which was successfully operated on in late 2007, but the previous 18 months of serious disability had left their mark on my back and leg muscles, not to mention my confidence!). I'd sooner use a purpose-built self-contained shower unit, such as one finds in most ensuite guesthouse bathrooms, and on the Northlink Ferries. I would rather shower on a ship in a force 8 than climb into and out of a slippery bath before and after showering . So I had a sink "swittle" of most of my bits before getting dressed for breakfast at 8am.

My nephew Kenneth had offered to take me for a run north of Aberdeen last Sunday, an offer I had accepted eagerly. The morning was bright and sunny, as were my spirits as we left the city just before midday. To my shame, I had never been to Peterhead before, and I was surprised by what I saw when we arrived there. I had previously known that there was an oil harbour and a fishing harbour on the south and north sides of the Bay respectively, but the sandy beach and recreational facilities at the head of the Bay took me by surprise, for some reason. We pulled in to a car park there, joining a few bikers and other motorists to survey the scene. Sandford Bay, on the south side of Peterhead, is dominated by a huge power station which dwarfs all other buildings in the area with the exception of the massive sports complex nearby. The town itself is nicknamed the "Blue Toon", and I couldn't make out why, as most of the buildings there are of a pinkish granite. We went to the fishing harbour, which was empty of all but about a dozen whitefish boats and the three locally-registered large pelagic ships. The Fraserburgh trawler "Ryanwood", now apparently working on her own, arrived with what appeared to be a good catch (she was noticeably down in the water forward), and tied up at the fishmarket. We had a look at the succession of little docks and piers in the inner harbour, and I felt sad thinking of how different this place would have looked even fifteen years ago, before decommissioning started the process of fleet reduction, which had been declared necessary by the unelected and incompetent tyrants of Brussels.

We started south again, sticking closer to the coast for our return trip, and our next stop was at the Bullers o' Buchan (between Buchan Ness and Cruden Bay) which is a spectacular cliff formation similar to, but much larger than, comparable geological features in Shetland. Simply put, what seems to have happened is that a sea-cave has forced itself inwards and upwards, finally dislodging the ground above it, leaving a massive hole in the land adjacent to the coast. Down in the bottom of the chasm, no sign of the dislodged ground remains - only a little beach remains, the water coming through the cave on the sea-side of the feature. I would estimate the size of the oval-shaped hole to be around 50 metres long by 20 metres wide, and around a hundred feet deep. These amounts may be on the conservative side.

Onwards we went to Cruden Bay, which consists, to a large degree, of several hamlets joined into a corporate and natural entity, around a sandy beach, a golf course and a burn. A large church, which I've previously noticed from the "north boat", stands imposingly on a rise to the south of the town. I found this place attractive, and took some photographs of it. There are also some modern housing schemes and several licensed premises here, which leads me to believe that no-one need go thirsty in Cruden Bay!

Bypassing the hamlet of Whinnyfold (which may have been a mistake, but time was a finite resource for us), our next stop was the picturesque village of Collieston, built around a steep little cove, which has changed little since my last visit here around 35 years ago, although a new housing scheme has appeared on the landward side, I suspect much to the displeasure of the established residents at the time of building. We watched from the head of the pier as a young lass scrambled up the precipitous grassy slope on the south side of the village. My camera came into service again here, before it was time to head southwards again.

By now, the sky had clouded over a little, and a short sharp shower fell as we approached Newburgh. Situated at the mouth of the Ythan estuary (which is much more extensive than I remember it), this place has changed almost beyond recognition. Blocks of executive flats have sprung up to define its new role as a dormitory town for the oil industry, and must have swelled its population at least tenfold. I recall this as an attractive village, where the approach road from the south once led to a scene where an old mill jutted out into its own reflection in the water. We looked for this, but couldn't find it. We had afternoon tea in the cafe bar of the Udny Arms, where a few well-heeled-looking locals were watching the early stages of the Scotland/Brazil football match. Near the door, a border collie eyed me balefully from its nose-on-the-floor position as we left. I was tempted to wind the beast up, but thought better of it!

A trip down Aberdeen beach from Bridge of Don to Footdee brought our afternoon journey to an end. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of people and cars at the amusement area around the Beach Ballroom, and the scene brought no tears of nostalgia to my eyes whatsoever. I'd had a wonderful weekend away, and it was now time to to finish it with the trip north on the ferry "Hrossey". My thanks to my brother and nephew for giving me such an inspiring tour of the north-east of Scotland.

I had the shower, which I had been looking forward to for the past twenty four hours, as the ship went through practically calm seas off Fair Isle at 5am next morning. I had breakfast on board as we passed Mousa, and joined the many schoolchildren and adults who made up the throng of foot-passengers going ashore through the covered walkway just after 7.30am. My next intended trip to the mainland will be in late October or early November when I hang my second exhibition at the Creel Inn, Catterline. The actual dates are yet to be advised, and I emailed the proprietor yesterday for these, as there are passages and accommodation to be booked, and grants to be applied for in the meantime. Oh, and a lot of painting to be done too!