The Courier & Advertiser (Angus and Dundee)
Where river runs into sea
“Immerse yourself in the sheer joy of nature’s melody
Afavourite walk I’ve neglected in recent months is along the bank of the River North Esk, where it runs out into the North Sea. The recent fine weather was all it needed to tempt me there again.
The road from Marykirk across to the coast dips down into the Den of Morphie, which was awash with lacy white gean blossom promising a tremendous crop of wild cherries.
Carry on past Stone of Morphie Farm, and the Viking warrior buried beneath the stone, and you come to its junction with the A92 to Aberdeen.
Opposite there used to be a wooden gate on the roadside to the tiny station for Kinnaber Halt on the single-line railway from Montrose to Bervie. It wasn’t much of a station, just a single platform, and if you wanted the train to stop you waved your brolly or hankie to the driver.
Montrose Bay was laid out before me. The tide was out, and a long expanse of golden sand swept down to a line of lazy waves breaking gently on the shore.
Just south of the junction the impressive 11-span Northwaterbridge Viaduct carried the railway across the river. Running alongside are the eight arches of the Lower Northwaterbridge road bridge, built 90 years earlier, carrying the original turnpike, now the A92, to Aberdeen.
Violet Jacob – the Angus writer who stands on a par with John Buchan, RLS and Lewis Grassic Gibbon – wrote in the opening paragraphs of her novel The Interloper about the same eight arches spanning the river, which she calls the North Lour.
There was a coolness in the east wind coming off the sea but it would have been a crime to stay indoors on such a sunny day. The river mouth empties with the ebbing tide and it’s the best time to see the waterfowl feeding and preening in the shallows.
A heron rose from the waterside with a harsh croak of disapproval at being disturbed.
Five greylag geese were swimming idly in the slack water. I reckon they’ve left it too late to fly back to their summer breeding grounds in Iceland and will nest here.
A pair of shelduck wouldn’t let me close enough to get a picture of their handsome black, white and chestnut plumage, teasing me by flying just too far ahead to get a good shot.
Three eider duck drakes paddling together probably meant they had mates nesting nearby. The ducks incubate four or five greenish eggs for about 30 days, hardly leaving the nest, so the drakes have time for idle gossip.
Squalling black-headed gulls and piping oystercatchers are attracted to the shingle beaches where they nest.
I was thrilled to hear the sustained trilling of skylarks – first of the year – which nest in the bents and the heather.
The concrete blocks, known as Dragon’s Teeth, which line the riverbank are relics of the Second World War. They were placed on easily accessible beaches like Montrose and Lunan Bay on Scotland’s east coast to prevent German tanks which might be landed from the sea making their way inland to attack our towns.
The name originates in Greek mythology and the story of Jason. He could only claim the Golden Fleece if he successfully carried out three tasks, one of which was to sow a field with dragon’s teeth. An army of ferocious warriors sprang from the soil and fought each other until only five were left standing, who joined his crew of Argonauts.
Bird Chorus Day
Tomorrow is Bird Chorus Day – always the first Sunday in May – when bird lovers will rise from their beds from 4.30am onwards to celebrate the sweet sound and natural wonder of birdsong. The rising sun will be just a blink on the horizon and the dawn chorus will be tuning up.
Traffic would normally be quiet anyway but right now it is almost non-existent. Whether you live on the edge of a village, like us, or in a high-rise flat, you will be able to hear birdsong.
In these times of lockdown and social distancing set the alarm, throw open your front door or windows to greet the day, and immerse yourself in the sheer joy of nature’s melody.