Quintin Lake

Quintin Lake finds that his coastal trek around the UK can still surprise him after two-and-a-half years

Our explorer discovers that the sea can still surprise him with its variety

Heavy mist has descended on Dumfries, turning its bridges picturesquely

monochromatic. The mist gradually ebbs and flows in opacity, so I wait with the camera for the optimum moment of abstraction. A mischievous lad approaches me by the river; with a flash of his gold teeth, he points to the bridge and tells me: “Aye, under there, that’s where the wee otters are”.

I have 20km of main road walking in the mist to go. This is not fun. I’ve never felt the need to wear a head torch in the daytime before. As the fog gets thicker, I can’t see much beyond my feet, but at least I learn that Irn Bru tops the leaderboard as the roadside litter of choice in Scotland.

Carse Sands, the first beach I see in Scotland, makes for joyous walking after yesterday’s road slog. I can see England across the Solway, but the coastline feels very wild here already. I was expecting to head a lot further north before the landscape would feel this elemental.

Underfoot is an abundance of seaweed I haven’t seen before. Overhead, vast flocks of geese are as much a part of the The sight of a signposted Scottish footpath is the exception rather than the norm. Most Scottish coastal paths are not marked on the ground. landscape as the ever-present outline of the Criffel hill and the Solway Firth.

I’ve been put up for a couple of days by fellow travel bloggers Esther and Warren; they cycled around the world for three years and, like me, experienced nothing but kindness in all their time of being strangers on the open road.

Next morning, their neighbour Matt, a retired ambulance driver, offers to drive me back to the coast along beautiful winding roads. His wife in the back reminds him to slow down at regular intervals. It’s a special kind of Scottish sun today that delivers absolutely no heat.

I’m thrilled to be onto the first cliffs of the Scottish coast at Sandyhills bay. I find it an exhilarating sense of freedom, almost like flying, to walk on rolling fields by the edge of a sea cliff. The sunlight today is vivid, like Velvia transparency film, and there is barely any wind. The Solway is shallow here, with a texture between mercury and silk through which a complex pattern of intersecting waves gently pulsates. I marvel, even after two-and-a-half years of spending a significant amount of time staring at the sea, that it can surprise me anew like this.