Perimeter
After exploring the Clyde, Quintin Lake rediscovers the attractions of the city
The 6,000-mile photo walk continues…
It’s the first day this year that I don’t need thermals. Can I dare to dream that warmer weather is on the way? Despite this, I learn two apt Scottish words this week: ‘oorlich’, meaning damp, chilly and utterly unpleasant; and ‘drookit’, meaning drenched or soaked through.
Near Port Glasgow, the timber ponds along the Clyde are as beautiful as any land art and make for a thrilling photographic subject in the still and reflective water. In the 18th century, they were used to store and season imported wood; now all that remains are posts that delineate rectangles in the shallow water. Approaching Glasgow along the bank of the Clyde, I expect some banter with gangs of bored lads, like I’ve had on the edges of other coastal cities. In fact, the area is all new housing estates and generic retail parks, with not many people about. The southern side of the Clyde feels bathetically lobotomised: all Krispy Kreme, Ikea and Sainsburys next to derelict remains of the onceunsurpassed shipbuilding industry.
It’s been a while since I’ve been in a city. I’m wide-eyed, and appreciative of the comforts the achievements of civilisation. To be able to buy food when I’m hungry and find shelter when it rains seems miraculous. I’m staying a few days in Glasgow, and the tent, water filter, barbed wire cover and electric fence detector sit unemployed in the corner of my room. One of the dusk photos I take is 13 seconds at f/13 on Friday 13th – but somehow I make it through the experience unscathed.
At Cardross, I make a detour from the coast to St Peter’s Seminary, a derelict modernist masterpiece. I’m not sure if there will be any security or how well fenced-off the site will be, so I’m relieved and amused to find a narrow gap in the fence with a hand-painted ‘This Way’ sign. There’s not much space, and after posting my backpack through the gap and squeezing through afterwards, I’m glad I’ve been cutting back on the cooked breakfasts. I’m moved by how profoundly good this building is and how strongly that comes across, even in its ruined state. I spend five hours photographing and leave buzzing, unconcerned that I’ll need to walk into the night to make up time.
The path ahead takes me across geological and ethical fault lines, crossing into the Highlands and past the Faslane Peace Camp before reaching the razor-wired fence of the Faslane nuclear submarine base.