The weather was rarely the same for two hours. Each day was a mixture of spring, summer, autumn and winter, usually in the wrong order. Only by walking in it could we appreciate the reality, the freshness of its nature, the raging moods and gentle changes in the terrain.
Birds settled in their nooks and the waves kept on coming. Clouds dispersed and reformed, mutated, shed dark tears and glistened with silver trinkets. Rocks and slippery paths underfoot fought with the urge to look all around, up ahead, fly in the sky and be at one with gulls who hovered over us like guardian angels.
We stayed at a farm opposite this magical castle and walked into Stonehaven, two miles away, for our evening meal. That was after a day of exploring the coast; sitting on a rock to just watch and listen; perching on a cliff top to eat sandwiches; watching some brave local athletes doing a triathlon based around the beach and leisure centre; sipping real ale called Dark Isle that was as black as melted shoe polish in a cask-smelling pub; and then heading back to the B&B for a sleep and to get changed to walk out again.
I would tell you the history of Dunnottar Castle but it's better to just go there and read the few plaques that tell you about the ruins. The only history that's important to us is the fact we first went there together 30 years ago, even before we were married. If that makes me sound old then I'll race you down the 179 steps. And you can carry me back up.
© Bernie Ross 2006
