A Red Haven
I’VE only been to Kippford Bay, formerly known as Scaur, in Dumfries and Galloway three times, firstly to have a look around, secondly to buy our Lodge, and lastly to stay for a week; and never has a place felt more like home.
After six months of, admittedly very relaxed lockdown, with the gang in Top Mossley, we needed to breathe, we needed a break.
It kind of felt right on our first visit, as we were immediately wrapped in native woodland beauty complete with red squirrels, pine martens, badgers and deer.
Within a buzzards glide of glorious hidden beaches, and of course there are two pubs in the tiny harbour village, with the hills beyond, both Scottish and English, as the North Lakes doffs it’s cap from the other side of the Solway Firth.
There is also the, ‘Ark,’ an aptly named café, gallery and eatery that serves ice-cream for dogs, complete with a miniature bone on top to replace the Flake, and once the girls saw the latter the deal was sealed.
As I put pen to paper and hoisted the cash from my back pack, my twin sons, Oisin and Culain, granddaughters Orlaith and Erin, and my daughter Niamh, were all at the forefront of my mind, not least because my ‘tick-list’ was for them in the future, as much as for the here and now.
What really caught my eye on arrival were the 10 or so skilfully chain-sawed tree sculptures which line the road-side; Gordon the young Northern Irish owner of the park could easily have just had the trees cut down, but he brought the sculptor over from his homeland to do the job, and then there is the extra touch that the squirrels, the owls, the badger and rabbits are all found in the vicinity.
From our veranda we look off into the distance towards Screel Hill, a target for the next trip, not least because our virtually ‘private beach’ Red Haven sits below, as do the Wicker Man sculpture and one more Abbey for the list.
We were tipped off by the guy who fitted our aerial, local knowledge at its best, as there is no chance of just ‘coming across it.’
A tiny worn sign points down a single-track lane where you can park up, and after a half mile walk across the fields, ‘da, da!’
The photo here was my first view of the red beach, which is in indeed a haven, and refers to the red sandstone which is found in the area.
As the sea is estuarine, when the tide is out it’s really out, think Southport, and the mud-flats teem with bird-life, including every kind of wader you can think of.
Give it a few weeks and area will filled with wintering geese.
Just out of reach is the tempting Heston Island; tiny but beautifully formed, with a history of smuggling, fishing and copper mining.
I was drawn to Daft Annie’s Steps, a series of rocks only visible at low tide.
Apparently, Annie used this so-called short, but very dangerous, cut, instead of the much safer ‘long cut,’ and drowned.
Only a few miles along the coast there are several reserves, including the very well known, World Wildfowl Trust’s, Caerlaverock, and I am certainly looking forward to reporting back from there this winter, as thousands upon thousands of wild geese fall onto the area like milk from a glass.
Wetlands such are these are in serious threat the world over and I am so pleased we have landed so close to these vital areas.
If rainforests are the lungs of the planet, then wetlands are the lifeblood.
As much as we need air to breathe, we need water to live.
The conservation of our wetlands is essential to all life on Earth.
Wetlands are found across the world, ranging from giant deltas, mighty estuaries and mudflats to floodplains and peatlands that humans have relied on for hundreds of years.
Some wetlands are famous, such as the Okavango delta, Arctic tundra and the Pantanal.
Some wetlands are as humble as the bog and pond at the end of your garden, marshy bits of land so easily overlooked yet so crucial for protecting our environment.