QUINTIN LAKE
Our coastal explorer gets ready to cross the border into Scotland
It’s six days’ walk before I cross the border, but I’ve just had the first glimpse of Scotland across the Solway Firth, misty and
undulating in the distance. I wasn’t expecting this first view to stir my soul.
Whitehaven was once the third largest trading port in the UK, exporting coal worldwide. The impressive scale and handsome engineering of the harbour only accentuate the melancholy feeling now its whole purpose is redundant.
I spend a night camped in the earthworks of Milefortet 21, part of the Roman frontier defences that connected with Hadrian’s Wall. I put the tent up in the dark, kneeling amongst hundreds of writhing slugs that are feasting on the wet freshly cut grass, their skins glistening in the torchlight.
The rain has been relentless for days, so there is no time for niceties in selecting places to get out of the wind and rain. With my hood up, sheltering under a bush, dog walkers in the pretty rose garden in Silloth give me a wide berth as I boil water for my lunch.
On Grune Head, the small pebbles are mounded by the waves delineated neatly against the sand. The pattern is so playful and systematic it takes a moment to realise the arrangement is the tide and not human.
It’s been many days’ rain now, and the flooding here has made national news. Tractors are pulling out school buses, and people are abandoning their cars on the higher ground. Despite all the vehicular chaos, I can still make good forward progress wading through on foot. Water drops bead on the camera: it’s a ‘trust the weather sealing or get no pictures’ day. It’s rained for seven hours today, and then suddenly the sky is blue and warm. It lasts half an hour before the rain returns.
I’m driven by rage today: I’m so fatigued, and there are so many obstacles to contend with, one after the other. Most of the day is a struggle through thick mud or wading through flooded fields and roads or climbing over barbed wire fences to avoid the worst patches. A voice in my head begs me to stop and rest all the time. But Scotland is close…
I approach the border squeezed behind a crash barrier on the hard shoulder as trucks hurtle past. But there it is! The most beautiful thing in the world, the ‘Scotland welcomes you’ sign at Gretna Green. After the preposterous selfie ritual, I sit on the embankment, happy and weary, and reflect on the 173 days’ walking and 173 days’ photo editing it has taken to reach this point.