Showing posts with label Findochty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Findochty. Show all posts

Sunday, 27 April 2008

The Prodigal Son Returns!

Not taking any chances with this fuel crisis, and not heading down to Glenshee as I had wanted to, we instead returned to my old childhood stomping ground, and the coastal path between the villages of Findochty and Portknockie. The above picture shows 2 large free-standing rock pillars, which are almost surrounded by water at high tide. We called them the Mammy and Daddy rocks, and I climbed up both of them many times as a kid.

The approach to the village of Portknockie.

Portknockie harbour.

On the return leg we saw the Air-sea rescue guys practising their winching at the top of the cliffs.

Here's one of them being lowered down, ideal weather condition, hardly a breath of wind. It's not going to be like that in a real situation is it?

Heading back the way, looking at the East of Findochty and the Sandy Craig beach.

The Sandy Craig beach closer up

Tuesday, 22 April 2008

While the Sun Shines!

Managed to squeeze in another jaunt up the Bin of Cullen today. Got to make the best of it before I'm back in school. That starts next week, and there won't be much in the way of spare time then! The first photo is the view towards Buckie.

The village of Findochty is hiding in here someplace!

This is the picturesque village of Cullen, with it's magnificent railway viaduct, probably the greatest architectural feat in the area. It's not a big place, but it has history!

Monday, 30 April 2007

Halcyon Days?

That's Findochty, the village where I lived until the age of 12. It's a lovely place, pity the locals weren't so nice. If your Grandparents weren't born there, then you were an outsider. Having no relatives in the village was also a distinct disadvantage, when whole tribes of local bampots tried to persecute you. But, haha, that's all changed now. The village of old has gone and white settlers have usurped the indigenous natives. Where once only Doric was spoken, now Clydseside and Humberside twangs resound. Oh, how I bet they hated that, the narrow-minded, insular, parochial ..... malcontents. Still, it must have done wonders for the gene pool!