11^th Jun 2014

Sheltering from the rain outside I stayed in the sunn inn warming myself up with coffee and hoping it would stop before the night set in. Setting up camp in the rain is never pleasant and the only I thing I hate even more is collapsing camp in the morning when its raining. Still I was in the dry and chatting to the customers and putting all these worries behind me.

The rain eventually became a slight shower so I decided to make a move and find somewhere to sleep. The staff behind the bar suggested an old pill box on top of the hill overlooking the golf course. At least it would be dry and I wouldn't need to worry about pitching or collapsing the tent in the wet the following morning. I grabbed my pack and headed off. The light shower was now a drizzle and eventually it stopped. I climbed the hill, through the long wet grass and found the pill box I had been told about. It was quite an unusual one as it had two floors. The lower floor was wet but the upper level was dry and sheltered. I put my head torch on and headed in to see where I could lay out and sleep for the night.

The far room was the cleanest so using my boots I swept the floor and lay out my punctured air mattress and sleeping bag. I made a quick cup of coffee and settled in to my latest improvised home. Just as I started getting comfortable, even though the floor was uneven, concrete and cold a couple of small birds flew in. I hadn't realised it when I looked round but they had made a nest in one of the corners. I kept quiet so they wouldn't notice me and eventually fell asleep.

Early the following day I woke, my housemates comfortable with my presence and the sun shining through the gunery slits in the pill box. I packed and bid fairwell to my little friends and set off down the hill and over the golf course. My boots were still soaking so I'd put two plastic bags on my feet over my fresh pair of dry socks. it felt weird as my feet slid inside my boots but it also felt more comfortable than walking in wet boots. I carried on along the sandy shore until the landscape changed and the sand became rocks, its amazing the diversity of rock you find around the coast. I couldn't help thinking mike, urban explorings resident geologist would explode with sensory overload.

Stopping to take it all in I met a lovely couple who commented about the size of my back, we chatted briefly before parting and going our separate ways. I carried on over the rocks and around the corner into another bay where a retired gentleman was watching his dogs playing in the sea. He shouted a greeting across to me and I reciprocated. I headed over and sat down beside him for a short break.

The Scottish speaking northumbrian lived in Craster the town I was currently heading for. Full of admiration I was told of the beautiful coastal views I could look forward to the further north I went and some of the interesting facts and history to accompany his descriptive dialogue. I would be passing the island that inspired the novel "treasure island" and on to holy island with its fantastic abbey and castle ruins. The more he spoke the more he became excited, often saying "you're a lucky man". You could see it in his eyes he was envious and had obviously been to these places in his youth. Full of knowledge and piecing the journey together in his head he suddenly stopped, turned to me and said "you know what you should do! You should walk out to spit across from holy island and using ya boot ya should paddle across to the island, sleep in the kilns then walk across the old Pilgrims passage in the morning. Thats what I'd do, if I were you. Och! It'll be fun!!!!".

It was the type of crazy thing I would do normally so I figured I would check his plan out when I got there and make the decision then. Before I left he said he lived in Craster and he'd be looking out for me when I passed. I grabbed my pack, wished him fairwell and set off up onto the cliffs in order to get round the bay and onto Craster.

12^th Jun 2014

I headed up onto the cliffs to make my way to Craster, admiring the views that lay below me and squeezing past the steady flow of hikers walking down the same narrow path. One of these hikers stopped to allow me and my enormous pack to get through, I stopped to say thank you and we started to chat. It turns out the chap, who looked like a hippy was from california and he loved walking the UK, flying over whenever he could. I asked him if he'd ever walked the A.T. to which he replied "no, it's far too dangerous. We have things that'll kill you. Bears, snakes, people". He had a point the most dangerous thing I'd come across so far was a caterpillar.

Well I carried on along the clifftop path, hikers became twitchers and the views became covered with birds. I found a bench and took a short break. I'd only been sat a few minutes when a couple came along, each with cameras attached to enormous lenses. The were heading down the slope which led to a small cove, home to a flock of birds. As they descended the man said to his partner "watch out, it's slippery", he took her hand, I thought to myself that this could only end one way and watched with great interest as they both slipped and fell onto their backsides. He turned to me and said "what did I say!" So I reminded him.

Craster was only just over the crest of the hill so I didn't stop long. I grabbed my bag and headed off to meet the guys at the station. Along the way I passed the gentleman with the crazy ideas, he shouted from his garden "don't stop my man, don't stop! I've told them you're coming" I waved and replied "I won't and thank you". I headed down the street and arrived at the lifeboat station where I was surprised to find another walker fundraising for the rnli but walking clockwise in short sections, heading home or staying in b & b's each night. I was, as always, welcomed with a cuppa and a smile. The crews always appreciating the challenge and happy to help in any way they could. Before I left they handed me a new map to replace the one that had turned to mush back in Alnmouth. As soon as they handed it to me it started to rain heavily. A pattern was beginning to form. I handed the map back explaining that every time I had been given an rnli map it had rained and this proved it. I set off, running for cover where possible but it wasn't long before the rain stopped and the sun came back out.

I left Craster up the hill and headed for Dunstanburgh castle, an extremely impressive ruin of an ancient castle. I stopped in at the shop for a drink and chatted with the warden about the castle and other sites of interest. I was there for quite some time and even had a personal guide to show me the main parts of the grounds and learned a little about the castles roles over the years. Eventually I had to say goodbye and headed on to low Newton by the sea where I had been told to stop at the ship for a drink. They had some unusual local ales but because the sun was so hot I settled for a pint of orange and lemonade before setting off once more. I followed the coastal path over the cliffs until I reached the sandy beach leading to benthall. I descended down onto the beach just as it started to get dark, the light fading fast. The beach was fairly long and the tide was starting to come in. I marched across the beach starting to look out for a potential place to camp when I hit a rpped off section and a sign saying the beach ahead was closed due to nesting turns and that a detour was in place.

I followed the detour up a steep sandy bank and through long wet grasses eventually coming out at a bridge crossing the river leading to the estuary. Then the signs stopped. It was now pitch black and the light from my head torch only dimly lighting the way ahead. I could hear the sea but couldn't see it. I didn't have a clue where I was so decided to try and fumble my way back to the beach with out disturbing the nesting turns.

After a while of randomly following narrow paths and using a similar technique that bats used to navigate I eventually ended up at a caravan park. It then became apparent that bats had perfected the technique and that I was simply wandering blind in the dark. I pulled out my phone and checked the satellite images to see if I could work out where I was. Thankfully not too far off course. I followed the park roads back to the beach and thankfully passed the turns.

At the far end was benthall a small village with a car park. I searched around looking for somewhere secluded to camp the night but couldn't find anything so decided to use a small area of grass behind the toilets at the car park. As I set up the tent I noticed the sun was still setting on the horizon. Bearing in mind it was now nearly 1am and the sun started to set around 11pm it seemed odd. I tried to take a photo but it only came out black.

12^th Jun 2014

The following morning the sun shone bright, I was up around 7:30am. I had breakfast packed up and headed for the beach. The beach led round to a small boat yard and onto the road which took me back to the cliffs heading for Seahouses which was where I was hoping to have got to the day before. Seahouses was only a couple of miles away and didn't take long to hike to. When I arrived I found a small cafe and ordered a full English. I wasn't sure that I would be able to get another before entering into Scotland a couple of days later.

Before leaving the town I popped into the local lifeboat station to see if anyone was there, the door was open to the public so they could see the boat but no crew members were present. I went in none the less to take a look at the boat and read the history of the station. Whilst in the station a cyclist wandered in, red faced and sweaty. "I've heard about you" he said "the guys at Craster told me, I'm cycling the north east cycle route stopping at all the stations along the way". "I'd like to buy you lunch" he said. We headed off across the road from the boathouse to a chip shop opposite, before we went in Derek reached into his pannier bags and pulled out a spare fundraising tshirt and handed it to me.

Over lunch we chatted about his individual challenge and how he loved long distance cycling and figured he could help the rnli by fundraising as he enjoyed his hobby. A perfect marriage. A year or two earlier he had planned to cycle the north west cycle trail and admitted he'd not allowed for the great hospitality of the crews and that the challenge had actually taken longer than he'd planned. This time though he was a veteran and now better organised. It was lovely meeting Derek and the break well received. Before parting I told Derek about the plan I had been given by my barking mad friend the day before and how I may possibly be going to holy island that evening. Derek was staying on the island too, so it was highly possible that we would meet once more before going our separate ways.

Derek handed me two flapjacks, mounted his teddy infested bike and cycled off down the road the next destination of his epic cycle challenge. I squeezed the flapjacks into the top of my backpack, slung it on my back and headed for the clifftop once more.

You simply can't get bored of the landscape of Northumberland, its impossible. Every clifftop view different to the one before and the one to follow, that is until the clifftop path leads you to a long and perfect sandy beach, sqeaking beneath your feet, the waves lapping at the shore. Keeping close to the waters edge on the firmer shoreline the hike was easy going even with the weight of the backpack.

Until now castle ruins had been few and far between, this section of coast and the coast yet to be discovered was to be quite simply littered with them. Bamburgh castle was almost perfectly preserved at sat majestically above me on the shallow cliffs to my left. It could be seen a fair way off and the closer I got the more majestic it looked. When I arrived in front of the main tower I put my bag down and climbed the dunes to get a good picture and then returned to my trek. I hadn't walked far when I saw a small sandcastle someone had made. I had to take a picture so I could post it to my social feed as a joke with the accompanying comment "bamburgh castle, its alot small than I had imagined! ".

Chuckling to myself I headed off towards the far end of the beach occasionally stopping to take in the view. I had my eyes firmly set on the trail ahead trying to determine where it would be where I ascend back to the clifftop when I caught something unusual and out of place in the corner of my eye.

12^th Jun 2014

Two immensely huge dice! I stopped, turned my head, I had to be sure the trek wasn't starting to effect my sanity. Sure enough there they were, two enormous red dice. To be precise, it was a couple of old concrete anti tank blocks painted red with the spots of a dice, painted in white. Well thats not something you see every day so I stopped for a quick selfie before heading off on my way, still looking for a route back up to the clifftop.

Ahead of me was a lighthouse which seemed to be accessible from the beach so I figured that was my best option. The logic being that there must be a way to get to it using a path from somewhere other than from the beach. 
As I proceeded with my plan an amateur photographer approached me, the size of my pack instigating the conversion once again. We chatted about the challenge and I was asked if I would mind posing in front of the castle behind me so that he could take a quick shot. Obviously I obliged, perched myself on a rock and smiled.

Once he'd got the shot he'd imagined in his head we shook hands and I set off to find this track I hoped would lead from the lighthouse upto the clifftop path I would follow to the estuary ahead of me. I climbed up the rocks and over to the lighthouse. There was a track but this wasn't where I would end up going. To my surprise there was easy access to the beach on the other side. I headed off down the beach until I came across the estuary. On the images in Google earth it looked as though I would be able to cross with out to much difficulty, in reality this was not the case. The river flowed directly into the sea and was way to deep and quick flowing to be able to safely cross. I had no choice, I would have to follow the river back to a town inland, cross the bridge and follow the bank on the other side round to the spit where I was going to attempt to cross over to holy island. I wasn't going to be able to make the crossing that night though as taking such a long journey would mean I would miss the low tide I was hoping to catch in order to make a safe crossing in hoolley. I set off peering across the estuary looking for potential sites for a camp that night. I was a little disappointed but sometimes plans simply don't fall into place, it adds an element of uncertainty to the trek and makes the whole challenge more challenging. I headed off along the sand and followed the river, a huge war gun emplacement located above me partially covered with trees and bushes, a potential improvised shelter maybe. I carried on round the bend and saw two ladies sat in the sandvtheir dogs playing in the water. I stopped and said hello and asked if I would be able to get a drink nearby explaining what I was doing and that my plan to cross to holy island had failed.

"Wait!" They said. Val and fran had been here before bringing the kids when they were younger. They used to wait for the tide to go out before crossing over and getting stranded on the other side, they'd take a bbq and have a little party while they waited for the tide to go back out before returning. It sounded like a sound enough plan, if nothing else at least I would be on the right side and could get to the spit to camp if I missed my chance to cross.

Low tide would be at 6pm so I figured if I crossed at 5:30 I would possibly be able to get to the launch location just after low tide and make the judgement call at the time. We continued chatting while I waited for the water level to drop enough to allow me to roll up my trousers and wade across to the other side.

It was almost time so I said farewell and headed off to a point I had been shown in hope that it would now be shallow enough to cross. It was only ankle deep thankfully so I crossed over. I'd also been told to expect a second river to cross and sute enough there was. This channel was much deeper than the first. I made one attempt but had to turn back as it got deeper and didn't appear to shallow out at all. I continued walking along the bank looking for shallower waters judging the depth by looking for ripples in the water and light patches where the sun was reflecting off the bottom. I eventually found a potential crossing point and went for it. Yes it was deeper than the first but only came up to my knees. I clambered up the bank on the other side and waved at val and fran back on the shore to indicate their plan had worked and I was safely across. I then wiped the wet sand from my feet and put my boots on. It was now a race to get to the spit and make the decision to cross over to the island or to camp nearby and make the crossing the following day.

12^th Jun 2014

Ahead of me was a vast expanse of flat sand. I could just about see the end of the spit ahead but had quite a reasonably long hike in order to reach my destination. I set off at a fair pace, it was like being in a desert, sand on all sides as far as the eye could to see. With every step the shore got closer and closer, I then followed the edge of the shore along passed the end of the dunes and out towards the island. The tide was still going out and I figured I might be in luck. As I got closer I started making a plan, if I timed it right I'd be able to ride the incoming current and ferry glide across the mouth and straight into the harbour opposite. It all seemed good in my mind so I hastily unpacked hoolley, blew her up and attached my pack to the front. I then dragged her across the sand and into the water. I'd somehow managed to caych the tide as it was turning. A few small waves lapped in and with a few small bounces I was able to launch into water. I'd picked a spot just up from the harbour entrance so that if the current was strong I would have a better chance of getting across to my targetted landing point, a small slipway near to the entrance. I paddled out using the force of the waves combined with the fast flowing current to drive me in the right direction.

I was about half way across when I thought I heard singing. I stopped paddling to listen again, I couldn't hear anything, maybe I'd imagined it, I started paddling again and again I heard singing. "Mermaids, its got to be mermaids. Either that or its angels and I've died but just didn't know it yet" well thats what I said to my self. I looked around and then spotted a huge colony of seals. "Ah! Well thats a relief, at least I'm not dead". I carried on paddling still on course for the slipway I'd picked out from the other shore. The current was considerably reduced once I found shelter in the the harbour and I could see people on the shoreline. They'd stopped their walking and I can only assume because they'd spotted a crazy kayaker paddling across to the island.

When I landed on the slipway I thanked hoolley like I normally do and praised her for yet another safe journey.

With hoolley safely packed in my bag I set off to find a pub that I thought derek would be in to surprise him. I walked into the town and found the crown and anchor, just the type of place you would likely find a fundraising cyclist and sure enough there he was sat with a small group.

"You made it! Let me get you a drink" he said. I joined him and his group for a chat and enjoyed my orange juice and lemonade.

It was getting late by the time I'd finished my drinks and had a coffee and the perfect time to head down to the end of the island to find the kilns situated beneath the island castle.

Using my head torch I approached the castle and located an island map to check the path that would take me to the kilns. I had to be careful because the grass was damp and slippery and it was dark but I did manage to get to the kilns safely.

Entering the tunnels of the kilns were quite daunting. They were much bigger than I had imagined with the ceilings towering above me. I explored the tunnels in search of a quiet place to lay out my sleeping mat and settle in for the night. Each tunnel was slightly different, some were a bit cold and windy, some slightly damp and one had a headless pigeon. I eventually decided on the main tunnel about half way along. I lay my mat out climbed into my sleeping bag and closed my eyes. I was just nodding off when I heard a noise.

13^th Jun 2014

I reached around for my torch, switched it on and down from above a bird poo landed on the end of my sleeping bag. Well I've always been told that having a bird poo land on you was lucky, I grabbed a wet wipe and wiped this lucky poo off. I looked around searching for the offender but couldn't see them, I checked to make sure I hadn't laid out beneath any nests. I couldn't see any so figured I probably wouldn't get any more luck again that night.

Rolling over, I pulled my sleeping bag over my head, not wanting any luck to land on my head or worse still in my mouth. Getting comfort was difficult but eventually I dozed off. The following morning the sheep that grazed in the long grass outside the kilns decided to wake me at 5am with a dawn chorus, echoing through the tunnels it was difficult to ignore so after thanking them I decided to pack my things and set off around the island. Low tide was at 6am so I knew I'd have enough time to get to the Pilgrims passage and cross safely back to the mainland.

From the kilns I followed a grassy track which lead to a strange pyramid monument. As I arrived the clouds that had been threatening to rain decided now would be the ideal opportunity to release. Without cover I decided not to stop and investigate further but instead to quick march the far coast line around the island, through the dunes and quarry towards the small beach. When i got to the end I spotted the tarmac Causeway cars and sensible tourists took to enter and exit the tranquil island and although it was tempting to use it to facilitate my escape I carried on along the road towards the long poles all standing in a row across the bay showing Pilgrims the safe route back to solid ground.

As I arrived at the start of the passage the rain let off and the sun started breaking through, the warm rays drying my boots and trousers.

Standing at the edge of the bay I looked along the row of wooden poles thinking to myself "It'll be fun, he said". Remembering a documentary I'd seen about the walk I knew I had to stay close to the poles or risk sinking into the quick sand. I gingerly stepped out into the bay, it was firm and not as muddy as I'd been expecting. I reached the first pole and lined up the next one. I set off expecting the ground beneath me to become softer. It didn't, I stepped out slightly to take a look at the long line of poles ahead of me. "Ok here goes" I said and although there was no one around to hear me somehow it seemed appropriate. I set off and marched across the bay, the never ending row of poles ahead of me and with no end in sight I put my faith in those brave Pilgrims that had risked everything to provide a safe passage. Yes it was wet in places and yes just over half way across it did get a bit muddy but all in all it wasn't anywhere near as bad as I had expected. Then the poles just ended. I was still a fair 300 yrds from the safety of the shore. I stopped, took a moment to glance back at my little adventure and then focused on the shore ahead of me and the bridge crossing a small river, all that was left of the bay. It wasn't too far away so figured it was probably safe to head for, so set off, satisfied that I'd made it off the island without any dramas. My boots were soaking which in turn meant my socks were too.

Safely on the roadside, the sun shining down I took out a chocolate bar and boiled some water for a victory mug of coffee. As I was sat there a bird started singing to me and from nowhere a lady appeared. "You made it then! How was it?" It was fran, she'd decided to bring her mum to the island as she hadn't been there before. "It was as wet as the route you sent me on" I replied. We chatted for a bit while I enjoyed my victory drink and then it was time to make a move and continue my journey. I needed to get to Berwick to pick up my supplies.

Two rows of anti tank blocks led me onto the coastal path that I needed to follow to get me back to the shore and onto berwick.

Following the coastal path around the bay marshy areas reminded me a little of the sea walls I'd spend weeks following earlier on in the trek. The only real difference being that I wasn't exactly alone here. Every ten minutes or so I was pased by cyclists following the north east cycle route. After a couple of miles I found myself near to the coast once more. My feet were soaking wet and there really isn't anything worse than hiking in wet socks. I sat down on the grass, removed my boots and socks in the hope the sun would do its best to help me out and at least semi dry them out. I lay down on the grass and basked in the warmth of the suns rays. Several cyclists passed determined to get where ever it was they were heading to. A few hikers also walked past, saying hello before carrying on with there individual quests.

After an hour or so I decided I needed to get up and make a move, I put on my socks, now dryer than when I took them off and laced up my mildly damp boots and headed off towards a road that ran parallel to an old mod bombing range. Unable to get to the coast due to unexploded ordinance yet to be discovered I followed the road. The clear skies being covered with clouds and a damp feeling in the air I figured it wouldn't be long before my boots would get wet again. Coming up was a golf club, a potential place to shelter in the hope the rain would eventually pass me by. Thankfully a sign on the entrance said "walkers welcome". I stepped through the door just as the heavens opened up, breathing a sigh of relief and walked into the bar and ordered a coffee and my last full English breakfast for a while.

Sitting in the bar, watching the rain through the window and catching up on my blogs I started chatting to some golfers that had given up on their game and thay had also decided the club house was more preferable.

The rain eventually stopped so I decided to take the opportunity to head off. Berwick was still a fair hike away. Bidding fairwell to the golfers I set off across the course and back to thr beach. The sand was soft making it difficult to get a good pace going, even down by the shore line. Yet I soldiered on, with one goal in mind, berwick and my waiting supplies.

Ahead of me I could see a group of female hikers, they'd stopped to address various wardrobe and backpack malfunctions. I approached at a reasonable pace, said hello as I passed and headed off towards the horizon. Eventually the beach ended and I found myself scaling rocks and dunes into the next bay and another smaller beach. I carried on until that bay also expired. This time I couldn't carry on so had to head up to a narrow tarmac road slightly elevated above the bay. I clambered up the bank and took a short break. Around the corner came the lady hikers holding an icecream. They were following the coastal path as indicated on there o/s walkers map wheras I was taking the longer natural route of Britain's coast line.

I picked up my bag, slung it on my back and set off once more gaining on them and eventually passing by, the hills of Scotland now visible ahead of me just beyond the days target destination. I made my way down the hill and cliffs I'd had to walk over and along the promenade at Spittal, stopping to buy a slush drink from a small cafe. The suns warmth was quite strong and the cool ice drink felt refreshing.

Reaching the harbour entrance I had to then follow the road around to get to an ancient bridge to cross over the river feeding the harbour with fresh water. As I did I bumped into the lady hikers once again. They'd stuck to the map, missing the lovely promenade that had inspired the artist lowry. Once more I passed and once more saying hello, it was becoming quite comical now.

It was quickly approaching 5pm and I was running out of time to get to the post office before they closed which would have been a little disastrous as I had planned to try and cross the Scottish Borders that evening.

On the other side of the bridge I had to find west Street. Thankfully it was directly opposite, unfortunately it led up a steep hill. Typical! I was really starting to feel tired by now, but determined to collect my supplies I marched up the hill and found the post office at the top. I can only imagine what the clerk behind the counter must have thought seeing this red faced, sweaty, out of breath hiker leaning against the doorway. I composed myself and started walking towards the counter, she smiled and said "I know who you are!". She disappeared out the back as I approached the counter and presented me with the familiar supply box. We chatted for a bit and I opened the box to show her the types of goodies I received. Seeing the packets of freeze dried meals she said wait here and left the post office. She came back a few minutes later saying she's spoken to the local rotary club, who by chance were having a meeting that night, and that they had invited me to attend and get some proper cooked food inside me.

The rotary club met every Tuesday evening in one of the members restaurants. I happily headed down to meet them and see what they got up to. Would it be like the Masons, funny handshakes and an air of mystery? No it wouldn't, it was very much a club for local business men. A way to unite and help the town by joining forces and collectively utilising their individual skills and connections.

The meal was love and so where the members. We all sat in the function room around tables, chatting freely while we ate. After the meal I went to relieve myself in the loos, when I came back the meeting had started. The chairman was addressing the club and turned to me and said "perfect timing" I was about to take a seat when he added "this is Adam and, well why don't you introduce yourself and tell everyone what you're doing". It wa a little shock but I switched into speaker mode and began to let the audience know about the challenge and how I'd come to attend their meeting. I believe it went well as afterwards I had several members cone up for a further chat. I then joined the chairman for an impromptu photo opportunity and was presented with a donation cheque to add to the fundraising pot. Once everyone had left the restaurant I packed my supplies into my bag and headed down to the harbour ready to continue. It was now getting late so my plans to cross the border had to wait till the following day. I found a secluded spot on some waste land near to the waters edge and made camp.

The following day I decided to leave the tent erected and left my bag hidden amongst the tall grass and wild vegetation, confident that they would still be there when I got back, and headed back up into the town to locate an outdoor shop to get some waterproofing for my boots. To frank I'd literally had enough of walking in wet socks. I was also lucky to find waterproof trousers and was given a handsome discount by the shop clerk once I told her what I was doing. I also tried to find an hsbc bank to pay the cheque into fearing it would get damaged should it rain. Unfortunately "the worlds local bank" wasn't very local in this town. I headed back to the tent, packed it away and set off around the towns ancient fortified walls, stopping briefly to admire the view of the harbour entrance when I heard "what are you stopping for", it was a couple I'd met back in Seahouses. They'd come to Berwick and were also admiring the views as well. It's a small world. We had a quick chat and they headed off into the town and I headed north to cross the borders.

This was it! I was about to leave England and head into foreign territories. About a mile or so from the England/ Scotland divide I met a rather tall and smartly dressed fellow. Alex was culturally detached. Born and raised in Britain he'd spent a fair time in Norway, his dad was Scottish and alex spoke a fair number of languages fluently. "Hello, do you know where we are? " he said. I pulled out my phonr and brought up the satellite images to show him. He had wanted to visit the Scottish Borders but wasn't sure how much further they would be. "You've come this far, it would be a shame to turn back now" I said. So we both headed off in search of division between Scotland and England. The land was undulating and pretty much what I'd become a custom to over the last few weeks. Alex wasn't exactly dressed for the terrain highlighting that he'd lost his walking boots and was wearing normal flat bottomed shoes. It was lovely meeting Alex, together we continued on, entering the last English settlement on the east coast, a caravan park. We walked through the park, as we did I noticed a sign nailed to a post saying "enter at your own risk". The wild and overgrown pit looked inviting to me and the sign simply drew my curiosity. I said to Alex that I simply couldn't resist taking a look. The border was less than half a mile away now and a quick 5 minute exploration wouldn't hold us up too much.

I descended into the abyss, fenced off for the publics safety. At the bottom was a tunnel. I love tunnels as they generally lead somewhere. I went in using my phones assistive lighting as a torch to light the way. The tunnel did in fact lead somewhere, down. A rope had been provided to give explorers a way of climbing back up so I went further in. At the end I could see light which meant that there would be something to see at the end. It was a large, very long and damp tunnel. When I got to the end it opened up onto a cliff edge overlooking a rocky cove. Could this have been used by fishermen or smugglers? I'd have to wait til I got back home to find out. My primary goal for the day lay at the top of the cliffs so I turned round and started the climb back to the top. Emerging from the tunnel I clambered out of the pit and put my pack back on and set off following Alex to the border which marked the end of "the easy part" of the trek.

The path was well signposted and fences prevented you from falling off the cliffs into the cove I'd discovered at the end of the tunnel. I could see a large blue sign with a white cross on it. The words "welcome to Scotland" written proudly on it. This was it, I was now leaving England and setting off on the next part of my mamoth journey around this great country.

14^th Jun 2014

Both Alex and I walked through the gate dividing the two countries. The landscape ahead in complete contrast with that I had just left. The first think I noticed was how wild and daunting the cliff faces looked, the landscape was rugged and awe inspiring. There was no fence preventing you from falling off the clifftop, in Scotland if you're stupid enough to go to close to the edge you only have yourself to blame! I also noticed there was no sign welcoming travellers to England, Scotland already appeared more friendly and I hadn't even met any locals yet!

We both headed over to the railway line showing the trains border crossing. Which reminds me, just prior to meeting Alex I had seen the famous "flying scotsman" train fly passed, not the old one mind you but instead, the new shiny bullet shaped one.

Well Alex had to catch a taxi back to berwick so that he could catch his train and I needed to head off to find somewhere to camp. An old ruin of a fishermans cottage situated at the bottom of a steep cliff face path seemed like the ideal location for my first night in Scotland. I headed off for it and climbed down, searching for a level area in which to pitch. I set up the tent and headed off to explore this unusual site. A rusty winch capturing my attention down on the rocks in the bay below.

After I'd gone to investigate and returned to the tent I made dinner, one of the new 1000 calorie freeze dried packs I'd been sent, it then occured to me how quiet it was. I then climbed into the tent for an early nights rest.

I woke early, peering out of the tent to catch the morning suns rays glistening on the sea. I made breakfast and set off back to the top of the cliffs and along the clifftop path. this new landscape was very different to anything I'd experienced on the trek so far and judging by the view ahead of me it was gonna be more and more different the further I headed into Scotland.

I followed the coastal path alongside the rail tracks, the occasional train cruising passed, some heading north and others south. When the path ended it joined a small tarmac road which continued passed a small farm. There were two people standing in the entrance, they waved so I replied "good morning". I headed over eagerly wanting to hear a gruff strong Scottish accent. The Yorkshireman replied "good morning, where have you walked from?". I was to say the least a little disappointed, I explained that I'd come from Southampton and was heading back there via john o'groats and that I'd camped out at the old ruins back a bit. They weren't Scottish but very pleasant none the less. After a short chat I set off looking for a way to descend into Burnmouth, a small village and my first real encounter with a local community. Eagerly I followed a quaint path from the clifftop down to the village. I followed the street along and other than a woman weeding her garden and an old lady gazing across the bay the village was fairly empty, signs on the cottages inviting you to let for your holiday.

It wasn't long before I reached the end of the village next to the harbour, which is apparently Scotlands first harbour, I ascended up a steep set of steps. I then followed the signs for the coastal path that led me to some fields. The skies were completely clear and I beginning to get exceptionally hot. Following the path was reasonably easy and although at times I found myself extremely close to the clifftop edge, I found the hike reasonably simple. After a few hours walking I was able to see Eyemouth. I hiked around the golf course and down towards the harbour. In order to get to the town though I had to follow the promenade around, passed the closed lifeboat station. I stopped briefly to try and connect to their wifi but failed. I then decided to locate a cafe so that I could order myself a full Scottish breakfast.

A full Scottish is similar to a full English with freshly caught haggis replacing hash browns and squashed lorne sausages replacing normal sausage shaped sausages. It didn't take me long to find a cafe. In fact I was spoilt for choice as there were two, side by side. Naturally I chose the second as it looked rougher and the locals appeared to prefer it to the more cosmopolitan one next door. The menu boards were simply insane and had such a choice my mind nearly exploded. The top of the breakfast proudly listed a "full English"! What, I couldn't believe it. Just underneath was the full Scottish, phew! "I'll have a full Scottish please" I announced "and a coffee, that would be splendid". "What type of coffee would you like?" Came the reply. Well I thought it would be obvious "a scottish one" I said with a cheeky grin across my face. A voice from the back perked up and with a mild scottish accent said "that'll be an instant one then!". That was perfectly fine by me.

The breakfast was ok although I wasn't sure the haggis had been freshly caught as the sign had indicated. It lacked, well texture and to be honest, flavour.

Needing electricity to charge my phone and wifi to upload my photos I headed for the tourist information desk in the museum and was directed to giacopazzis just around the corner.

Claire and amy were both working at the cafe, well at least one was when I arrived. Well to say they were entertaining would be an understatement. I stopped off in the little icecream parlour and restaurant all day catching up with my blogs and charging up my phone and backup battery, trying out the homemade ice creams and drinking mochas. When they closed they offered me a free plate of pie and chips which was gratefully received. It was dark by the time I left so I headed along side the harbour and headed up the cliffs to find a suitable place to camp without falling off the cliffs into the sea below. A wild field provided a suitable and comfortable location so I pitched up and climbed into my sleeping bag.