The Road to Hell...

In true TV drama style, let's start with a catch-up of the previous episodes.  Thus far, we have seen our heroes, Ian and I, tackle crime on our way through the Fife Coastal Path, occasionally aided and abetted by our crime fighting sidekick, Lesley-Ann (Ian's other half).  By crime, I do of course mean, blubber.  Our last episode ended on a knife-edge as we made it back to Dalgety Bay, which, by no coincidence at all, was our starting point for the first leg of the next section of the walk.

So, what's the tale of the tape for this round then.  Well, stats fans, it is:

Distance: 7.93 miles (a new record!)
Time: 2hr 35min 13sec
Blisters: None, although it was a close run thing. I've said it before, but Compeed is a lifesaver
Parts of me in pain: Lower back (really sore), left ankle (****ing sore)
Average Speed: 3mph
Walking Style the Following Day: Drunken village idiot

I was actually quite disappointed with the final speed, for large chunks of the walk we were well over 3.1mph, but, sadly, the last mile was, for me anyway, a killer. I hit the walking equivalent of the wall. If runners hit the wall, I guess walkers hit the plasterboard partition? Not quite as strong as a wall, but still notable! However, I was determined that I wasn't going to dip under the 3pmh mark, so from somewhere found a second, third and then fourth wind. Today, however, I am struggling to find a first wind!

I covered the history of Dalgety Bay in my last blog, so will refrain from going into much more detail about the village itself.  Walking on our way back out of the Bay, we passed some monumentally expensive houses, some incredibly expensive cars, and the famous 'Glowing Beach of Doom'. It is a bit disconcerting to be walking literally inches from a beach which is fenced off with signs saying, amongst much else, "Radioactive Contamination".  It's strange to think that at one time, radioactivity was believed to be good for you, with some everyday items being dosed up with good old atomic energy, radium (the same element which has condemned the beach here) in toothpaste being the most obvious one to spring to mind.

St Bridget's Kirk. St Bridget not pictured.

It was on the way out of Dalgety Bay that we wandered past something I've been hunting for, quite literally, years - an abandoned church.  Those of you who know me will know that my principle hobby, and occasional source of alternate revenue, is photography. I've had various ideas for vaguely gothic dystopian photoshoots, set in the ruins of a church, but had not found a suitable location. Well, that all changed last night with the discovery of St Bridget's Kirk.  I actually feel a bit embarrassed at not knowing there was such a landmark on my doorstep, so to speak, given that the church has been there, in one form or another, since it was founded in 1178 by no less an authority than Pope Alexander III. The church eventually came under the authority of Incholm Abbey, which itself, perched as it is on the island of Inchcolm, dates back to some time between 1107 and 1124. It's actually quite humbling to realise that you are wandering around ruins of a structure which has, in part at least, been there for almost a millennium. It makes me feel almost bad that I want to use it as a backdrop for a scantily clad model in various poses! The key word there being almost!

So, what of St Bridget herself. Who was she? Well, I must admit my ignorance of Saints is of a depressingly large magnitude, so, being the geek that I am, I'm rather pleased to have an excuse to do some research!  St Bridget, or Bridget of Ireland (not to be confused with the later Bridget of Sweden!) is, it transpires, one of the patron saints of Ireland, along with the much more famous Patrick, and less famous Columba. She is the patron saint of... well, tons of things, such as babies, blacksmiths, children whose parents are not married (honestly!), dairy workers, fugitives, mariners, milkmaids, nuns, poets, poultry farmers, sailors and watermen!  She was considered to be one of the bridging (probably no pun intended!) figures between early Christianity and paganism in Ireland. It's no accident that her feast day is February 1st, which is one of the famous quarter days in paganism.  Unsurprisingly, there is little of her life which can now be verified, given her lifespan was between the late 5th and early 6th centuries. She was, according to the recounts which still exist, a healer, miracle worker and daughter of two slaves, who was found to be holy from the start.  As she reached adulthood, she devoted herself to religious life and was instrumental in creating nunneries, monasteries, and, somewhat surprisingly, a school of art. Not bad at all, certainly a noble figure to have a small local church named in her honour!

Once we got out of Dalgety Bay, the next stop was the little coastal village of Aberdour, which contained the first major climb of the trek (when I say 'major', I mean major for me - for normal people, probably not so much!). I've lost count of the number of times I've driven through Aberdour, I've visited the famously old church (of which more shortly), I've even played golf on the course there, but I've never really taken the time to learn anything about it, which is a shame, because it's a really nice little place. It's origins are somewhat shady, coming as they do, from the Dark Ages. The name itself is of Pictish origin, meaning "where the waters meet". It has a picturesque harbour, and what is widely regarded as one of the finest beaches in Fife, if not Scotland.  It's also famous for its old church, as I mentioned, and Aberdour Castle.

Aberdour Harbour

The castle dates from around 1200, making it one of the oldest still standing castles in Scotland, currently under the stewardship of Historic Scotland, it has all the classic castley features - towers, stately home parts, landscaped gardens and a view of the sea.  Well worth a visit if you are ever in the area, as is the 12th century St Fillan's Church, which not only is still standing, but is still in use as a working church, one of the oldest in the country still being used for the purpose it was built for. It's not the biggest church in the world, but there is an aura about the place which just entrances you.  Honestly, if you are in the area, pay it a visit, there aren't too many places you can wander into and let your imagination wander, trying to visualise 900 years worth of congregations.  It's pretty awesome.

Part of the walk through Aberdour involved the biggest climb of the day, up steps which were cut into the hillside to take us from the harbour, over the land to the beach.  I'm not going to lie, by the time I got to the top, I was panting like a grandad at a strip club.  I was, however, forced to put a brave face on it, at least for a while, as no sooner had I crested the hill, than two rather fetching young ladies came the other way, and, in the manner of men everywhere, I forced myself to suck in my gut (as much as is possible with the leviathan retundity (probably not a real word) of my belly!) throw back the shoulders and, to paraphrase those of a 'rap' persuasion, get my swagger on. Ian commented at the time that I appeared to have grown 5 inches in stature, leading me to worry that the zip of my trousers was down, but apparently he did just mean my posture.

I do tend to walk with a bit of a hunch, something I am trying very hard to train out of myself, to the point that by the end of the walk, my neck, being unused to having to support my head for such extended periods, was killing me.  Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on the point of view), the stunningly good weather had lead to a veritable bevvy of ladies deciding to take the air of the evening.  It was a sign of how tired I was by the time we eventually hit Burntisland that I was more or less unable to continue adopting my manly pose as they passed.

The scenic bit of Buntisland

So, Burntisland then, what can be said about that. Locally, Burntisland is famous for two things - the annual shows (a travelling carnival, for my American friends) and it's associated Highland Games.  Previously, the 3rd thing the town was known for, was it's bauxite processing plant, which stained pretty much everything within a mile of it a strange orange colour. There was also a proud history of shipbuilding in the town from the early 20th century, right up until the late 60s.  I actually used to work at the docks where the shipbuilders used to be, during my spell in the oil industry, by that time, the shipyard had been converted to a fabrication yard for sections of oil rigs.

By the time I made it back to the car park, I was so relieved the torture was over, I broke into an uncharacteristic run! The walk itself nearly didn't happen, due to the fact I am, from time to time, a fool. Packing the car in the morning before I headed to work, I was quite proud of myself that I had remembered my socks. This pride quickly evaporated when I realised that I had forgotten to pack a change of trousers. Lesley-Ann was of the opinion that, in the manner of gym at school, if I had forgotten my kit, I was to do it in my pants. That was never going to be plan B, I wasn't even wearing boxers, but I had decided on a pair of briefs (I'm not a fan of briefs, but having accidentally bought them, I, in the manner of true Scots, determined that I was going to get my money's worth out of them). So, before we even started, a quick detour to Tesco was needed, for the procurement of suitable walking pantaloons.  So, all's well that ends well!

The walk was also notable for the sheer volume of air traffic we noticed.  There is a flightpath which overflies the Kingdom, but it's not one which is normally used much, however, last night there was a veritable flock of planes both lining up for landing, and on their take off climb. The geek part of me couldn't but help and identify the aircraft circling overhead, mostly Boeing 757s and Airbus A320s, with the occasional Embraer RJ-145.  If nothing else, it helped confirm to Ian and Lesley-Ann that I have been single for far too long!

So, dear readers, there ends the latest enthralling installment of my walk related Blog.  Join me again next week when we depart from Burntisland and wind up... well, somewhere.