August Tynecastle Bronze 16/08/18
While there are so many butterflies about I can still fool myself the Summer is not absolutely over. But really it is. The weather has broken in traditional fashion and given the tourists at the festival their annual soaking, and really, they deserve it.
Word was out a single Holly Blue had been spotted behind the beach cafe on Coldingham Bay on Wednesday. There was a photo! A crack team of experts was sent in the next day to investigate. They were Robin (the proud taker of THE photo - was this the first ever in the Berwickshire area?) his big brother Iain (the Butterfly Whisperer) and a random hanger-onner. (Me!)
Even though poor quality I quite like this photo for expressing the excitement
of the early morning sun on Arthur's Seat as the train zips out Edinburgh.
I had been considering plans to knock out the monthly TB run so opted for catching the train to Berwick and running to Dunbar on the coastal paths. (Thursday was the best day weather-wise, I just hadn't got round to confirming the venue.) If I caught the hideously early 07.30 train (side-stepping peak rate train issues) I could start running North at 8.11am (I know, what was I thinking!) and, leaving plenty time to take photos on the way, still be at Coldingham Bay (approx 15 miles) by 11.30. The ground is almost entirely off road and on undulating single track for most. Total distance to Dunbar is 38miles but I had plans to cut some corners and knock a couple off. I have done various versions of this route and it is always a long day out. Last time was in this direction with Graham and we were both trashed from 30 onwards. I didn't invite anyone along this time as they might have balked at the hunt for the Holly Blue around halfway.
I also like this brooding victorian etching out the train window
of the Hopetoun Monument.
The cement factory chimney. This was to play quite a large part later. The forecast had suggested a SW wind. Now that I think about this it is not as ideal as an East or South East wind would have been. That smoke out the chimney tells the story. Headwind or nearly for a long run. It begins to add up.
The next part of the perfect storm was that getting off the train so early, the grass, and there was a lot of long grass, was still soaking with dew. And very quickly so were my shoes. I tried to stay in the shorter grass but it was all pretty bad. Wet feet, and shortly they were absolutely soaked through, were not a great start to a long day out but hey the sun was shining and I was feeling super-positive about everything because I'd arrived at Waverley in time to get a coffee (99p filter coffee with soy) from Pret.
Unfortunately I had been writing up a blog til late the night before. I was nearly finished by 11.30pm and so, being a night owl, pushed on to get it done. It was so nearly finished for a couple of hours, but alas it was actually after 2am on the last proof read. Big mistake. 4 hrs later I had to get up and pack a sack with sandwiches and the frozen drinks reservoir out the freezer with a litre and a half of frozen sports drink which would stay cold till midday or longer. However that lack of sleep. That was just asking for it.
Unfortunately I had been writing up a blog til late the night before. I was nearly finished by 11.30pm and so, being a night owl, pushed on to get it done. It was so nearly finished for a couple of hours, but alas it was actually after 2am on the last proof read. Big mistake. 4 hrs later I had to get up and pack a sack with sandwiches and the frozen drinks reservoir out the freezer with a litre and a half of frozen sports drink which would stay cold till midday or longer. However that lack of sleep. That was just asking for it.
beautiful scenery early on
There is a very good section on sleep in this month's National Geographic. I don't often get this magazine but August's is edited by Chris Packham and has an article on tropical butterfly dealing/smuggling. And another on sleep. Which says...
"Every animal, without exception, exhibits at least a primitive form of sleep."
"Sleep, defined as a behavior marked by diminished responsiveness and reduced mobility that is easily disrupted (unlike hibernation or coma), exists in creatures without brains at all. Jellyfish sleep, the pulsing action of their bodies noticeably slowing, and one-celled organisms such as plankton and yeast display clear cycles of activity and rest. This implies that sleep is ancient and that its original and universal function is not about organizing memories or promoting learning but more about the preservation of life itself. It's evidently natural law that a creature, no matter the size, cannot go full throttle 24 hours a day."
"Sleep, defined as a behavior marked by diminished responsiveness and reduced mobility that is easily disrupted (unlike hibernation or coma), exists in creatures without brains at all. Jellyfish sleep, the pulsing action of their bodies noticeably slowing, and one-celled organisms such as plankton and yeast display clear cycles of activity and rest. This implies that sleep is ancient and that its original and universal function is not about organizing memories or promoting learning but more about the preservation of life itself. It's evidently natural law that a creature, no matter the size, cannot go full throttle 24 hours a day."
"A full night's sleep now feels as rare and old-fashioned as a handwritten letter. We all seem to cut corners, fighting insomnia through sleeping pills, guzzling coffee to slap away yawns, ignoring the intricate journey we're designed to take each evening. On a good night, we cycle four or five times through several stages of sleep, each with distinct qualities and purpose - a serpentine, surreal descent into an alternative world."
The article goes on to say the recommended minimum is 7hrs. Ironic that I should be reading all this during a week when I flagrantly ignore the message and think because I am currently AWOL from work and getting plenty sleep I can skip half a night and go run for 38 miles without consequence. There were consequences.
Apart from a few whites I was over the Scottish border before seeing any (interesting) butterflies. One of the first is a Wall which is so orange it looks like a fritillary. It is the first of about 60~70 along the way. In 1s, 2s and 3s they are constant companions, and the reason I chose one to head this blog. They are less easily spooked than earlier in the year when they would not you let you get nearer than 10' before they would take off. I kept pondering that if the early bird gets the worm what does the early butterfly get? My only answer was, "its photo taken."
First stop was the dip near Lamberton where I first spotted Small Blues back in May. I had heard there might be some 2nd brood about and spent 4 or 5 minutes walking the 40 yards where I found them previously. No sign of anything apart from a hoverfly or 2, and a Wall. I didn't hang around longer as I had to meet Iain and his brother at Coldingham. It was a lovely day to be out and about.
I tried not to get distracted and waylaid by all the butterflies en route. Especially those I'd already documented plenty of times this year. (Peacocks.) However there were loads of large whites about and they hadn't been settling earlier in the year, so I found myself stopping to take their photos. There were also loads of small whites but weirdly I thought, no green veined whites. I think they "finish" before the other 2.
Small white
a wall on a wall
There were also a fair amount of Painted ladies, a large beautiful
creature, usually solitary, and very hard to run past without stopping for a photo.
Large white
I took all the short cuts possible - by the Lamberton dip 5 miles in, I had already saved half a mile taking a direct line from the station rather than following the coastal paths near the station. Again at Burnmouth I anticipated the zig-zag drop down through the back gardens; cutting across a field to find the stile at the top. On the descent there is this sign (above) snapped, just as a white flew past in the background. Great timing - everything at this point was just really...
On the climb back up the hill I saw a Meadow brown then another Painted lady. A Small copper, the first of many just a moment later. I started to keep a count of how many species I had come across, Small white, Large white, Peacock, Red Admiral, Painted Lady, Small copper, Meadow Brown, Wall. Eight so far, what more could I expect? There was no sign of any Speckled woods at the village hall, although the sun hadn't properly hit that beech hedge and so I gave any specklies the chance to appear just beyond, where the coastal path ducks through a leafy bower and out alongside trees. No specklies took me up on the offer of blog-fame. But I took some video of a Painted lady, a brand new one, hopping from flower to flower, glistening in the sunlight. I have been lazy about editing and posting videos of late, storing them up for the terrible cold months when the butterflies are gone. I so need a new interest to offset their winter absence.
I had higher hopes (for 2nd generation Small blues) for Blakie Heugh and the shelf below the high point between Burnmouth and Eyemouth. Last visit there it was jumping with Northern Brown Argus, Skippers, Common blues, the occasional Small blue and Meadow browns. This time it was nearly as lively, but mainly with Walls and Small coppers. I had to keep reminding myself I already had plenty photos of them and I was here for something beyond the first 8 species. There were loads of moths and I nearly got distracted by them too. I took a few pics but it was quickly becoming evident that there were no blues; Holly, Common or Small. I could feel the time slipping away and I still had a good few miles to go before 11.30.
It was only when I got home and was able to check out this "moth" that I realised it was in fact a Northern Brown Argus. But so old it had lost most of its colour. Last of the NBAs!
how could I resist this excellent specimen! (female)
(males have a darker band across the forewing)
(males have a darker band across the forewing)
I was reluctant to post these 2 pics above as they are poor quality - but they clearly show the gender difference - female on left (paler) lacks dark band on forewing but has more prominent forewing eye-spots. Although struggling in central England this delightful coastal butterfly (once called the London Eye!) is turning up more and more North of the border - and this year has had a huge second brood, pushing through East Lothian to places rarely seen.
I had looked at the map the night before and realised I could save some mileage by cutting through the golf course into Eyemouth, rather than follow the crinkly coastal path round the edge. It saved some more time and distance, though I still had an extra task: to find an as-yet-unused war memorial along the route to fill the criteria of the Tynecastle Bronze. I had previously ticked off the war memorial on the main street, so when I saw a church just beyond the estuary crossing, I thought that a possibility. On inquiring they pointed me towards the graveyard up the road which had a Commonwealth War Graves notice on the front gate. It was a large well maintained cemetery but search as I might I could not find one war grave or even a headstone with dates between 14~18 or 39~45. This is not the first time this has happened and rather than give into the rising frustration and start running up and down the graveyard cursing loudly (always goes down well) I decided to use one of my standbys (Waverley Station recently installed new memorial benches) and instead make headway towards Coldingham.
dodgy gv white!
After the cemetery, I knew if I went right I'd get back down to the beach at Eyemouth, but I really wanted to meet the coastal path after the caravan park on the exit from the town. I took the risk of heading out the Coldingham Road and happily there was a wee alley after the last house that led towards the cliff top path. I followed this then dropped down to the coastal path saying hello to a runner coming the other way. I looked at my watch and thought I might just make 11.30. There are some lovely trails at that point that climb and descend the roller-coastline. I thought I saw a green veined white, otherwise absent from today's species headcount. I took some hurried photos even though it was hiding in the long grass. I reckoned I was kidding myself and on subsequent species headcount recalls, I left it off the list. However examining it at home I could see the wingtips are neither the markings of the small or the large, so I'm counting it as the only positive gv white of the day.
Also about 10~15 yards away (I could get no closer without considerable effort and blood-letting) was this spectacular Small copper. I cranked the zoom to max and due to the colour contrast managed to get a half-usable image. It really shouts out against the greens, greys and blues behind!
The sun was shining when I got to Coldingham Bay. I arrived about 11.26 and phoned Iain who was immersed in the bushes less than a hundred yards away. Bad news, no sign of Holly Blues. This was defo wild-goose-chase country as there was no real reason to believe the one seen yesterday wasn't just an outlier passing through. However, worth a look, and we spent an hour combing the area nearby and walking back from the shore, up an attractive lane filled with butterfly-busy-buddleia and nettle strewn riverbanks. Lots of Whites, Peacocks and the occasional Admirals and Painted lady but no Holly blues.
Robin and Iain
I was aware I had a number of miles to go and the route got worse before it got better. I decided to head off and left those 2 to check out the holly bushes at the local church yard. I wished them luck (none was forthcoming) but was disappointed not to have seen one of the few Scottish butterflies still unseen, on my wish list. Have to leave something for next year?!
From here the scenery goes from pleasant to spectacular as the path climbs up the edge of Coldingham Bay and into St. Abbs. Through the picturesque village then into the nature reserve on the other side. I was beginning to feel the toll of the early start and my feet which hadn't really dried out were now feeling the rub of wet socks and debris. I had had something of a regroup and shakedown before setting off on part 2; buying plenty fluids at Coldingham, refilling my reservoir (still a little ice in there!) eating my sandwiches and emptying shoes of bruck. I should have been feeling refreshed and buoyed up by the sunshine and spectacle but the early start was taking its toll and I felt weary at the thought of another 20 miles over some tough ground. Nothing for it but to soldier on and run as smart as possible. It wasn't yet 1pm so I had plenty of daylight. I do this every month, it'll be fine!
There was no question about route: lighthouse or loch. Definitely loch. Shorter, less climb and I'd probably run into lots more butterflies along the loch side. My pack (with all that extra water added) was hurting my right shoulder and the general aches were ganging up on me. No use saying this shouldn't be happening this early in the day. I reckoned once the sandwich energy kicked in I would pick up and start enjoying myself again. However I still had some big hills to hike over. The measured mile posts on the hugely hilly hills directly after St Abbs, take 26 mins to stumble between on a good day. I took over 30 despite challenging myself to complete it within the half hour. Not a good sign. I also stopped taking so many photos; another litmus test of enjoyment.
Mire Loch
last wall photo of the day
The last time I did this section was with Graham and I think we were so busy chatting it passed without too much pain. The path is quite close to the cliffs which makes for great views but means a lot of up and down, neither of which seem particularly welcome. I passed an elderly couple struggling up a climb hoping to get more assistance out of their dogs than they were. The dogs had long since stopped straining at their leashes and when I turned round to look ten minutes later they were all sat in a group catching their collective breathes not much higher than when I'd passed them. It is not for the elderly or faint-hearted! I marched grimly on.
Luckily it only goes on for a mile or so and the 2 poles that mark the end of the measured mile also mark the end of the hard stuff. I started to anticipate the cut inland to Dowlaw too soon though and found myself unsure whether to head right or left. I turned my Suunto to sat-nav mode and called up the route from last time. I should still be over by the coast and so took a direct line there through a field of cows and calves. They watched me closely as did I them. The nearest ones moved away but some from the other side trotted towards me. I am always cautious about cattle especially when young are about and try to have an escape plan if it all goes udders up. I was very happy to get back on the track unmolested. The next field was covered in large purple flowering clover and (apart from the presence of some more cattle) was almost comic book rural idyll. Again I reassured them in my most friendly and least stample-inducing voice that everyone was cool and we were all just friends.
Dowlaw
The bit immediately after Dowlaw (21miles done) is back onto a single track through heather and made my feet hurt. I deferred back over to the road, running parallel for a bit which put less camber and yaw stress through my soggy toes. It felt like blisters were just around the corner. I wondered how soon to use my get-out-of-jail paracetamols. I couldn't remember if I had bargained 22 miles or 24. I decided I'd treat myself at 23 as a compromise. The worry was if I popped them too early the general ache they relieve would return towards the end of the run when they were needed most. If today degenerated into a long sore walk that might be an issue.
On the upside you come to point around there from which you can see up the coast to the finish. Well not actually the finish but the cement factory chimney which is 2 miles this side of Dunbar. Although it is a l-o-n-g way away it is still a positive landmark and reminder that at some point this hellish business will be over and you'll be drinking a pint saying "well it wasn't that bad after all".
(cement factory and) Torness approx 9.5miles away
It's best not to examine or contemplate the ground between here and there. True it is generally downhill in gradient but rather than try to bite it off and swallow whole, you just have to nibble little bits and slowly, really slowly, you will get there. It is good to put your mind elsewhere while doing this as you can find yourself suddenly a mile on from where you thought the best option was finding a rope, throwing it over the nearest branch and hanging yourself. Think instead of the butterfly species encountered; Small white, Large white, Peacock, Red Admiral, Painted Lady, Small copper, Meadow Brown, Speckled wood. Hang on that's only 8 fingers, there should be nine. Like some poor demented fool I'd be reeling them out in different orders grouping them as they appear on my laminted wall chart until another Wall flew past. Of course! Wall! Thank you. And another mile had flown by.
I had stopped taking photos by now. The strap on my backpack hurt my shoulder (it never does this, why now?) so instead of holstering my camera there I took my pack off and stowed it in the main body making it unlikely I'd take any more photos until Dunbar. Only new species. And even then, I don't really care any more.
During a long run things can improve as well as nosedive and perhaps the sandwiches eventually worked some magic as I began to feel a bit better and held off taking the paracetamols till mile 27. Around then every mile is a celebration: 25 a quarter century, 26 marathon (nearly), 27 ultra!
I took the shortest possible route in preference to the most scenic. This meant along the cyclepath at the edge of the A1 rather than down onto the beach for the winding JMW which is like the drunken stumblings of a person going for a long beach walk but now and again popping up into the woods or onto a coastal ridge, and not best on soggy feet. Like thirsty cattle that can smell the watering hole miles off I was zooming into the finishing stretch (holy shit 8.45 minute miles and cruising!) and loved Torness like never before because it meant only a short mile to the cement factory then 2 to the pub, I mean station. That mile went on and on and I was shouting obscenties as the cement factory refused point blank to get any closer despite me legging it like a crazy mofo. How can it still not be here yet? Answer: because it is 2 and half miles between the 2. Whoever has moved it is in such big trouble.
I had remembered, or thought I remembered there was a Dunbar/Edinburgh train at 5 something. Then a big gap till the 7 something train. So worth pushing the 9min/miling which would take me to Dunbar for about 5.10. Ten is lower than a lot of the somethings, so there is a good chance I will catch the train and not have to drink pints for 2 hrs which could go badly. I had recently run out of fluids so the Station Yard minipub featured highly in my fevered mind. Ideally there would be time for a pint and to wash in their swish facilities before stepping refreshed and recovered onto the imaginary 5.45. Yes that must be it. As long as I can get past the cement factory in the next 9 minutes. It seemed to be moving as quickly as I was though and I was tempted to flag down one of the many commuting cyclists to see if they knew A/ the train timetable and B/ if they could give me a backy.
The paracetamols worked their magic and I ran from mile 29 at a faster pace than any other miles of the day. Mind you it helps not to stop for pics. Even three sub 9s! There was rising joy as I ran through Dunbar knowing all this would be a distant memory after I soaked it all in grapefruit IPA in a matter of minutes. It didn't really spoil my pleasure that approaching the station I saw the 5.08 (nobody could have anticipated that!?!) pull out and leave. There was another at 5.45 (hurray!) and I'd have time for that pint and wash-up after all.
The pint, well it wasn't actually as good as I had hoped. I had a soda and lime first so I didn't gulp the pint down in 2 swigs and it, the soda and lime was so outstandingly FAN-FUCKY-TASTIC that no pint of bitter beer could ever hope to compete. Probably a sugar thing. The wash up in the toilet also went amazingly well and I was glad to change into the spare dry top and shorts in my pack. I felt much restored.
I had to stand up between carriages on the 30min journey home. Not because there weren't seats but because if I sat down I would wake up in Aberdeen. I think I still dozed on my feet and felt very woozy getting off at Waverley. It sometimes takes a few hundred yards to get the legs moving on the last mile home down Leith Walk. This was perhaps the first time I walked the whole way, too drongled to be arsed running. To my credit I remembered to take a pic in the station of the obligatory war memorial bench. On it are the words Lest We Forget. Indeedy.
I took the shortest possible route in preference to the most scenic. This meant along the cyclepath at the edge of the A1 rather than down onto the beach for the winding JMW which is like the drunken stumblings of a person going for a long beach walk but now and again popping up into the woods or onto a coastal ridge, and not best on soggy feet. Like thirsty cattle that can smell the watering hole miles off I was zooming into the finishing stretch (holy shit 8.45 minute miles and cruising!) and loved Torness like never before because it meant only a short mile to the cement factory then 2 to the pub, I mean station. That mile went on and on and I was shouting obscenties as the cement factory refused point blank to get any closer despite me legging it like a crazy mofo. How can it still not be here yet? Answer: because it is 2 and half miles between the 2. Whoever has moved it is in such big trouble.
I had remembered, or thought I remembered there was a Dunbar/Edinburgh train at 5 something. Then a big gap till the 7 something train. So worth pushing the 9min/miling which would take me to Dunbar for about 5.10. Ten is lower than a lot of the somethings, so there is a good chance I will catch the train and not have to drink pints for 2 hrs which could go badly. I had recently run out of fluids so the Station Yard minipub featured highly in my fevered mind. Ideally there would be time for a pint and to wash in their swish facilities before stepping refreshed and recovered onto the imaginary 5.45. Yes that must be it. As long as I can get past the cement factory in the next 9 minutes. It seemed to be moving as quickly as I was though and I was tempted to flag down one of the many commuting cyclists to see if they knew A/ the train timetable and B/ if they could give me a backy.
The paracetamols worked their magic and I ran from mile 29 at a faster pace than any other miles of the day. Mind you it helps not to stop for pics. Even three sub 9s! There was rising joy as I ran through Dunbar knowing all this would be a distant memory after I soaked it all in grapefruit IPA in a matter of minutes. It didn't really spoil my pleasure that approaching the station I saw the 5.08 (nobody could have anticipated that!?!) pull out and leave. There was another at 5.45 (hurray!) and I'd have time for that pint and wash-up after all.
The pint, well it wasn't actually as good as I had hoped. I had a soda and lime first so I didn't gulp the pint down in 2 swigs and it, the soda and lime was so outstandingly FAN-FUCKY-TASTIC that no pint of bitter beer could ever hope to compete. Probably a sugar thing. The wash up in the toilet also went amazingly well and I was glad to change into the spare dry top and shorts in my pack. I felt much restored.
I had to stand up between carriages on the 30min journey home. Not because there weren't seats but because if I sat down I would wake up in Aberdeen. I think I still dozed on my feet and felt very woozy getting off at Waverley. It sometimes takes a few hundred yards to get the legs moving on the last mile home down Leith Walk. This was perhaps the first time I walked the whole way, too drongled to be arsed running. To my credit I remembered to take a pic in the station of the obligatory war memorial bench. On it are the words Lest We Forget. Indeedy.
When I got home Mary was out. I washed my shoes and socks. They were honking so badly I couldn't think what else to do. I could smell them in the pub and hoped nobody else could. Then I drank a pint of squash and fell into bed without even bothering to eat. It was beyond glorious. This was around 7pm. I got up in the middle of the night and shuffled around pouring another pint into myself and shovelling down some stewed apples. Then slept till after 9. So about 14hrs. Now that's a proper night's rest!
How to drop a dress size in a day!
36 miles plus the usual 2 to and from Waverley on just 2 slices of bread and honey, 6 or 8 sports bars, a pint of beer and a plate of stewed apples. Half a stone lighter next day, but hungry like a horse for 3 days
11 species
Small white, Large white, Peacock, Red Admiral, Painted Lady, Small copper, Meadow Brown, WALL, Northern brown argus and Green veined white
36 miles plus the usual 2 to and from Waverley on just 2 slices of bread and honey, 6 or 8 sports bars, a pint of beer and a plate of stewed apples. Half a stone lighter next day, but hungry like a horse for 3 days
11 species
Small white, Large white, Peacock, Red Admiral, Painted Lady, Small copper, Meadow Brown, WALL, Northern brown argus and Green veined white
That's only 10
oh yes, Speckled Wood!
oh yes, Speckled Wood!
No comments:
Post a Comment