The first time I went to St Cyrus beach was 1978, with a young family, and memories of several very hot days spent on a couple of miles of sand and freeezing water even in June. Some years later I was unpopular because I didn't want to go to the beach – Ian Botham was in the middle of that innings in 1981 149 not out and when he took 5 for 1, on the way to winning the Ashes.
Ever since, when we could, we have found time to go walk the beach, or the cliff top for the view towards Montrose, or north towards Johnshaven. The other day, with a strong offshore wind I revisited a favourite spot, looking down on the old fishing cottages and smoke house.
The steel grey skies, darkening the sea further to a deep and variable battleship grey, contrasted with white waves making shore. And sitting back from the menace and power of the sea, two human dwellings.
The daffodils on the edge are almost past, transient colour which, on St Cyrus is eclipsed anyway with cliff faces glowing with gorse. Every since my first bird book, a Ladybird book, I've looked at gorse as the home of the goldfinch, linnet and yellow-hammer. I still look, though all three of those hedgerow birds are drastically reduced in numbers and distribution. The day this photo was taken all sensible birds were sheltering.
Leave a Reply