The Perimeter
Quintin Lake contends with constant rain and finding clean water sources on his coastal odyssey
Raindrops keep fallin’ on Quintin Lake’s head in Scotland
After packing up in the dark morning, my priority is finding drinking water even though it’s raining. Sourcing drinking water is a peculiar difficulty of the uninhabited coast: most streams are downstream of houses and farmland and therefore not safe to drink. I carry a water filter, but it doesn’t remove agricultural chemicals. As a result, I often rely on purifying water sources marked as Wells or Springs on the Ordnance Survey map, public toilets if they are open or diverting from the coast, and knocking on doors if all else fails.
The incessant rain limits photographic opportunities, compounded by being forced to detour inland on roads to avoid the live firing on the Kirkcudbright army range. I decide the day is best spent covering the distance as fast as possible, which also helps me keep warm. Because of the cold and wet, I haven’t stopped to eat, so when the rains subside at St Mary’s Isle, I collapse on the shore and prepare to boil water for a dehydrated meal.
Two figures approach along the shore, whom I soon learn are chef Ed Pook and wild food expert Mark Williams. We’re
all pleased to bump into someone else enjoying this remote, beautiful corner of the world. To my delight, Mark offers me velvet shank and jelly ear mushrooms from his foraging bag to add to my lunch. “Oh, and you’ve got to try some of this.” He walks a few metres to gather sea radish and scurvy grass, handing them to me like a magician. I add the fresh ingredients to my pot as they head off.
Outside a pub in Kirkcudbright, a man lowers his cigarette to ask, “You’s coming in?” in such a hospitable manner that I feel like a fool pressing on into the night. As night falls, I’m on the slopes of Senwick Wood, and there are no flat sheltered places to put up my tent. I see on the map that the ruins of Senwick Church are ahead; when I arrive, my torch picks out tombstones, but the ground is thankfully flat. I’m so weary that I only consider whether it’s spooky sleeping in a graveyard after I’m in the sleeping bag. Moments later, I’m asleep.
Next morning there’s been a light snowfall. When I pack up the tent, it leaves a coffin-shaped print on the ground. I’ve been sleeping in the same orientation as all the other souls here.