Wealth of history along an undiscovered coast
The harbour town of Lossiemouth stands amid pristine beaches, while nearby Elgin boasts a wealth of ancient grandeur
Low, foaming waves swish across a broad sweep of pale sand. Wading birds chase the retreating water, pricking the shoreline with long bills, and occasional walkers, in groups or alone, can be seen strolling barefoot in the cool morning. The beach is banked by a ridge of sand dunes, speared with tough sage-green marram grass. This sea wall creates a feeling of seclusion, even though the beach is very close to town. Behind the bank runs the River Lossie, its waters tumbling from the higher hills in the south. They converge, briefly curve and run in parallel to the Moray Firth before flowing into it at Lossiemouth. A narrow, weather-worn but sturdy, bridge crosses the river, linking the sandy spit with the mainland and leading into the town. Referred to by locals simply as Lossie, Lossiemouth inhabits a rising headland on the Moray coast, facing squarely out to sea. Some of its houses sit low to the ground, strongly angled and stoutly built. Here, livelihoods have been made; landscapes, buildings and personal histories all shaped by a relationship with the water and the wind. In summer, it is gentle, whispering off the North Sea, where children swim and play. The sandy spit is known as East Beach, and the dunes that back it were developed in the early 1900s when a row of disused railway carriages were towed into place along the riverbank to provide shelter for the houses in this exposed area.
A growing town
The Spynie Canal runs parallel to the River Lossie, approximately 328yds (300m) further inland, cutting off Seatown from the rest of Lossiemouth. A couple of bridges connect the outlying area with the rest of the town, and a footpath leads onto the coastal road. This road cuts around the headland, rising gradually uphill and passing shops and restaurants where fresh seafood is served. Miele’s, a convenience store, also sells ice cream made daily on the premises. From here, Lossie’s main streets are organised in a grid-like pattern, with exceptionally wide streets, indicating its relative modernity. This area of the town, known as Branderburgh, was built alongside and after the harbour in the mid to late 1800s. Until then, Lossiemouth’s main industry had been gathered around Seatown and the now disused harbour at the river’s mouth. The building of the new harbour at the headland’s north-east point, with its safe and relatively deep waters, compelled many people from local villages to move into town. It soon grew, spreading east to meet Stotfield, the oldest existing part. A coastal trail and path follows the edge of the town, passing the harbour and old boat stores. The robust buildings still stand, but rather than being stacked with nets, sails and float, many now
house cafés or shops. The Lossiemouth Fisheries and Community Museum occupies a former net mending loft here. Inside, visitors can learn more about the fishing heritage and history of the town. The original Fresnel lenses and gears from nearby Covesea Lighthouse are displayed alongside fishing artefacts, such as buoys made from dogskin. There is also a recreation of James Ramsey MacDonald’s study. Born in Lossiemouth, he became the first Labour Prime Minister, in 1924.
Community lighthouse
Leaving the harbour, the coast path turns west above a stonier shoreline, edged with cropped turf and spindly gorse. Soon the wider sands of West Beach begin to develop. The clear sea waters run blue out to the horizon, often capped white where they churn around barely visible outcrops of rock. These tiny islands, barely big enough to stand on, are known as skerries, from the old Norse sker, a hint at the area’s heritage. They are typically lethal to ships. Almost halfway between two of the largest, most treacherous skerries, where the shoreline swings a little further north, stands Covesea Lighthouse. At its base is a cluster of cottages, workshops and a well. The light keeper lived here, working until 1984, when the lighthouse was automated. In 2012, it was decommissioned, and the following year, it was bought into community ownership. Franziska Smith, Iona Kielhorn and Lynne Hawcroft have been working as guides at the lighthouse since it changed hands. Franziska managed much of the funding applications, “It was a great deal of work and in quite a short turnaround, but we did it,” she states proudly. “We’re working at it, and we’re learning as we go.” Much of the restoration work is done by community groups, and there is a great fondness and appreciation for the landmark. Iona has been coming to the lighthouse for the last 80 years and now volunteers here, taking groups up the tower and explaining its history. “From the top, it’s a magnificent view. You can see out to
Wick sometimes, which is 50 miles north, or right into the Grampians and over to Ben Wyvis in the west,” she enthuses. “There are 167 steps to the top: 144 to begin with, followed by two ladders. One man canoed along the coast to the lighthouse, and I could see he was limping a bit. He got as far as the first ladder and said ‘I can’t do this with my knee’. Then he rolled up his trousers and unscrewed his fake leg. So there is no excuse. If you want to go up, you can. We take it slowly.” The stone stairs inside twist upwards around a hollow shaft which runs from the top to the bottom of the building. The weights from the lighthouse’s clockwork mechanism would be winched up by the lighthouse man and slowly descend, turning the light. The original mahogany carved handrail is still in place. A final short set of metal steps lead up through the floor and into the light room. Here, visitors are met with an expansive view of the glimmering sea, seen through enormous panelled windows. A door leads to a narrow balcony running all around the tower, protected by a high railing. Outside, a mild salty breeze rustles up small waves, and the seemingly everlasting sea eventually fades into a blue fuzz on the horizon. “Lossiemouth used to have 100 fishing boats that went out from the harbour at one minute past midnight on a Monday, because you couldn’t go out on a Sunday,” explains Lynne, who married into a local fishing family. “I used to go to watch them. That’s why the lighthouse was so important. As well as the big industrial stuff, the local fishing community needed the coast to be safe.” Now guarded by a navigational lit buoy, and with the advent of sophisticated equipment, the coastline is safe. The lighthouse can be enjoyed as an icon of marine heritage.
Fossils abound
Travelling west, the coast becomes more rugged. Broad shores turn to abrupt rocky cliffs, into which the sea has beaten natural arches, caves and coves. After five miles, one such cove widens into sandy beach, where children climb over low rocks and examine the pools captured within. At the edge of this beach, a line of bright beach huts begins. It is an unusual sight in the Highlands and signifies the arrival into Hopeman. On a little hillock above the huts sits a small pavilion. Outside is a chunk of sandstone, imprinted with a fossilised reptile footprint, 250-300 million years old. It is thought to have been baked into place in a moment of great heat. Hopeman village itself was originally developed for quarry workers, with its harbour built in the mid 19th century. Quiet and secluded, its narrow main street is lined with small shops.
A far-reaching view
Two miles on from Hopeman, signs of more recent history can be found in Burghead, a village with a busy harbour, occupying a small peninsula. This is the site of a Pictish fort, which is
believed to have been the centre of the powerful kingdom of Fortriu between the 5th and 9th centuries. Much of the fort has been destroyed, flattened over the passage of time and the remodelling of the town in the 19th century, but signs of it remain. Atop the promontory is an old coastguard station. The distinctive white, circular lookout was built in the mid 19th century on an inner rampart of the fort. The same unobstructed sea views that attracted the Picts also provided the perfect conditions for monitoring the coast. Now, the lookout has been converted into a visitor centre with large glass windows and an open rooftop terrace. Most notable is the population of 190 bottlenose dolphins resident to the Moray Firth. Alison Rose is centre manager at the Scottish Dolphin Centre and has worked on this coast for almost 10 years. “This is the most northerly point that bottlenose dolphins will live, but they like the Moray Firth because a lot of good salmon rivers flow into it, and it’s quite sheltered,” she explains. “They come in very close to feed, so you can see spectacular behaviours, such as breaching, when they leap right out of the water. Scotland is amazing for both whales and dolphins.” She says up to 25 species can be spotted in these waters. “We’ve seen harbour porpoises, which are much smaller and shyer, but really interesting to watch. We also see minke wales regularly off Burghead, and recently we’ve started to see a bit of a peak in humpback whale sightings. It seems that their food, herring, is recovering around Scotland. We sometimes get basking sharks too.” Many kinds of birds can be seen from the lookout point. Ospreys, Arctic skua and great skua have been spotted, and a number of waders and divers are regularly observed. The extent of the coast and its
“Elgin cathedral’s ‘prentice aisle Is glory of that ruined pile. What modern chisel now could trace Fine sculpture of that ancient place?” James McIntyre, ‘The Shires on the Moray Frith’
changing nature provide for an array of species. “It’s really special, and it changes every couple of miles,” smiles Alison. “There’s dramatic cliffs, shingle beach and lovely sandy beach. You can get a real snapshot of Scottish coastline in a small area.” In the harbour, sheltered by the south-west wall of the promontory, Barry Paskins prepares his boat for another day of sea fishing. He takes passengers out to the rich waters of the Firth to fish for mackerel, cod and ling. “We’ll also get coley, coalfish, pollack, scorpion fish and wrasse,” he says. The water’s really clear, and on a good day, you can see four metres to the bottom.” Fishing has been a crucial industry for these villages since the medieval era. At its peak, herring drawn from the Firth was exported to the rest of the UK, Europe and Russia. In the 1970s, however, fish numbers collapsed. They have since begun to recover, but the national appetite for herring is much less, and commercial preference is now given to mackerel and scampi. Privately, and for leisure, it is also still much enjoyed. From Burghead, the main road cuts south-east inland, making a beeline for Elgin. This is one of the largest and most important towns in Moray and one with a rich history, inextricably linked with that of Lossiemouth and its surrounding villages.
Lantern of the North
Located 5.7 miles inland, largely to the south of the River Lossie, Elgin is a town of history and influence reaching back to medieval times. Located above the floodplains, it had access to excellent fertile farmland. At the time, it also had good sea access via Loch Spynie, which was then much larger and open to the sea, so received a lot of trade. The beauty and ease provided by the town attracted the early Scottish monarchs and high-ranking religious officials, many of whom visited or made a base in the town. Elgin’s wealth and elegance can still be noted in its many parks, beautiful sandstone buildings and wide streets. But it is perhaps best understood in the grounds of the ruined cathedral. Elgin Cathedral has had a turbulent history, but a sense of its past glory, and the peace that could be experienced within, can still be found amid the crumbling walls. Its earliest iteration was completed in 1244, 20 years after the foundation stone was laid. Less than 30 years later, it was badly damaged by fire. “After the fire in 1270, the bishop at the time decided that he needed a bigger, grander cathedral, so he wrote to the Pope saying there had been a tragedy, and he needed money for repair works,” explains Nicola Grant, monument manager for both the cathedral and Spynie Palace, two miles north. “The letter still exists in the Vatican archives. This is the second largest cathedral in Scotland.” The cathedral was enlarged and new rooms added. “The two towers at the entrance are 90ft tall, and there was a 200ft central tower. All three had spires. Imagine just how massive that is; almost 300ft in length.” It also featured rows of colourful stained glass windows and was intricately decorated. “These buildings were very ornately painted. This would all have been coloured in,” says Nicola, gesturing towards the now bare sandstone walls. “When you look at the cathedral, you have to wonder how they built it. There was no hydraulic lifting kit or cranes for the stones. And the masonry work is so very ornate.” Some examples of this can still be seen in the rosettes and vines, meticulously carved by hand and decorating many of the existing arches and doorways. The cathedral is rich in symbolic stonework, many original
examples of which can still be seen in the chapter house. The Royal Arms of Scotland, the Arma Christi and Bishop Andrew Stewart’s coat of arms can be observed among other symbols, such as a sleeping dragon and skull and crossbones. The cathedral suffered serious fire damage again in 1390, at the hands of the Earl of Buchan, Alexander Stewart, following a conflict with Bishop Bur. This time, it was not only the cathedral that was destroyed. Descending in a fury from Badenoch, Stewart first ransacked Forres and burned Pluscarden Abbey before reaching Elgin and setting fire to town and cathedral. Bishop Bur appealed for help in financing the rebuild, stating in a letter that “my church was the particular ornament of the fatherland, the glory of the kingdom, the joy of strangers and incoming guests, the object of praise and exaltation in other kingdoms because of its decoration”. He received the finances requested, and the cathedral was rebuilt yet again. In 1560, following the reformation, it was abandoned. “They literally just shut the doors and walked away,” says Nicola. The lead roof was removed and sold as munitions material in Amsterdam, but the boat carrying the valuable cargo was overloaded and sank not long after setting sail. On Easter Sunday 1711, the central tower collapsed, taking with it large parts of the remaining building. Despite all of this, a sense of quiet contemplation and sanctuary still pervades the ruins. “When I’m opening up in the morning, I quite often go to the gallery above the entrance, look over the view and have a moment,” smiles Nicola. “People say it feels like a church, despite the fact there’s no roof. There’s still a
Dorothy Frances Gurney, ‘God’s Garden’
sense of peace about this building, and I love that.” Visitors can access both remaining towers. Inside the more northerly building, a turnpike staircase leads up to a viewing platform, from which the whole town can be seen.
The changing tide
Just under two miles to the north-east, approximately halfway between Elgin and Lossiemouth, are the ruins of another building that was instrumental in the history of the area. Spynie Palace was not the seat of royalty, but was rather the residence of the Bishops of Moray. Established circa 1100, it held this position for 500 years, despite the building of the more sensational Elgin Cathedral during this time. Now, the grey stone ruins stand in a secluded deciduous woodland above a burbling stream. They are set far back from the nearest road, quietly surrounded by farmland to the south, marshy ground to the north and Loch Spynie to the east. This setting in peace and quietude, however, was not the case in the earliest years of its occupation. Loch Spynie is currently a small body of water, just over half a mile long, but in the medieval era, it was an expansive sea loch. Safe harbour could be gained here from the Moray Firth, and the land around Spynie Palace subsequently became a trading point and busy settlement. Built on the southern crook of the loch’s shore, it would have made a dramatic impression on boats entering from the sea. Donald Stewart is steward of the palace and has a family connection with the area and a deep affinity with the place. In a map from 1783, he points out how the land has changed.
“The kiss of the sun for pardon, The song of the birds for mirth, One is nearer God’s heart in a garden, Than anywhere else on earth”
“Spynie stopped being a sea loch circa 1480. The entrance was gradually shrinking as it silted up, and eventually it became impossible to get boats in. It became a freshwater loch, and it’s now famous for its swans.” At around this time, the palace was altered and the main gate moved from the south to the east wall. Later in the 1500s, the imposing St David’s Tower was built. “There’s no other castle like this in Scotland,” says Donald. “It has 500 years of history, and there’s enough left to piece together what else was there, using the imagination.” The impressiveness of the castle can still be seen in the heavy foundations and great walls that remain, despite the intervention of hundreds of years. The rooms inside were spacious and some of the windows extremely large. Though it has been beaten clean by the elements, it can be assumed that the interior would have been well decorated. The fact that such a momentous building was created in the medieval era is indicative of great wealth. A heavy wooden door leads into St David’s Tower, and a corner staircase curls up to a viewing platform at the top. From here, the outlined ruins of the palace can be clearly seen, the heavy stone walls nearly 3ft (1m) thick. Nearby, the much changed Loch Spynie gleams in the midsummer light, and the Spynie Canal cuts a bright, straight line to Lossiemouth, where it empties the loch water into the sea. The town itself can be seen from here, jutting just above the blue line of the sea, and just to the left, the bright white pillar of the lighthouse on the horizon. The road back to Lossiemouth from Spynie travels through a large stand of Scots pines, home to pine martens which are sometimes seen on the verges. Lossiemouth was originally built as a port town for Elgin, but is now a busy, characterful centre in its own right. Though each of the settlements in this area of Moray are connected, the changes in one often dramatically affecting another, the differences are also distinct. In the summer haze, waves lap against Lossie’s harbour wall, on a coastline which has witnessed, and still shows, thousands of years of history.