Willie Shand walks the golden sands of St Cyrus
St Cyrus National Nature Reserve in Aberdeenshire is one of Britain’s richest and most diverse. Willie Shand finds out more.
TRAVELLING through Montrose to St Cyrus means crossing both the South and North Esk rivers.
Just off the main thoroughfare before I head over the South Esk, a wee single-track road makes the journey out to the Scurdie Ness lighthouse. Painted black during the war to avoid being used as a navigational aid by the enemy, it was built by David and Thomas Stevenson, sons of the great lighthouse engineer, Robert. On a fine day like this, it’s a great stop for a break after an early start. Four miles to the north of Montrose, the Aberdeen coastal road drops to cross the fine old bridge over the River North Esk. It’s a narrow bridge and traffic has to cross using a priority system.
It’s no shame to the bridge or its architect though as, being built in 1775 long before motor vehicles came on the scene, no-one then could have predicted the demands of modern transport.
The river it spans has long been a prized area for salmon, attracting the attention of fishermen as far back as the 1200s. Commercial salmon fishing around the mouth of the North Esk ended only around 10 years ago.
Just a hundred yards beyond the north end of the road bridge, a single-track road heads down towards the coast and to St Cyrus National Nature Reserve.
This, as an intriguing sign informs us, is also the way to Steptoe’s Yard – a good old-fashioned yard where a rummage might well reveal that obscure thing you’ve been hunting for ages.
This road ends in a mile or two at the Nature Reserve Visitor Centre – housed in the former
St Cyrus Lifeboat Station. Strange, you might think, to build a lifeboat station so far from water.
When it was built in the 1800s, the North Esk passed close to its doors. In 1879, however, during a storm, within the space of 24 hours the river had forced its way through the dunes to create a new, straighter course to the sea.
The St Cyrus Reserve covers some 230 acres between the marram-covered dunes and towering cliffs behind and is managed by Scottish Natural Heritage.
If you’re into wild plants there are between 300 and 350 different species – wild liquorice, clustered bellflower, carline thistle and meadow saxifrage, to name but a few. Some are growing at their northern extremity for the British Isles.
For birdwatchers, there are fulmar, peregrine falcon, little tern, curlew, oystercatcher and as many as 70 different species to try to spot.
Listen for the stonechat – as its name suggests, its call resembles the sound of two stones being chapped together.
Just don’t try to get too friendly with the fulmars, though. If they feel you’re getting too close they’ll spit at you and you’ll stink of fish for the rest of the day!
They’re clever birds, too. Nesting on the tiniest of ledges, the fulmar’s eggs have evolved oval so that if knocked they spin rather than roll off the cliff.
The wild flowers attract huge numbers of butterflies, and with luck you might even meet all four of our grasshopper species.
Down on the sands, grey and common seals can sometimes be found basking in the sunshine, while further out, keep a watch for porpoises, dolphins, humpback, minke and killer whales.
St Cyrus is one of Britain’s richest and most diverse nature reserves. And, to see the best of it, there’s no better way than on your feet, starting with a walk along the golden sands that fill the bay.
To reach the sands we need to cross the long Gurkha Bridge – so called as it was built as a training exercise by Gurkha soldiers in 1985.
Its predecessor would have carried fishermen over the North Esk, but now, since its change of course, no water flows beneath the bridge.
Sharp marram grass grows on the sandy dunes behind the beach. It’s a hardy wee plant, being able to thrive in such hostile, infertile conditions but is extremely valuable in helping to stabilise the shifting sands.
Each plant can have a root system stretching more than 10 yards. Even so,
the dunes are constantly on the move with each gust of wind.
Nature is constantly rearranging the landscape of St Cyrus. The volcanic cliffs that back the dunes were formed around 400 million years ago.
After the last Ice Age, when ice almost a mile thick melted, the land, relieved of this tremendous weight, rose, creating a so-called raised beach.
From the sands we look south to Montrose and the lighthouse of Ferryden. Here, though, we turn to aim for the north end of the beach.
Why is it, walking along an empty beach, it always feels like the end is never getting any closer?
Piles of washed-up driftwood lie beneath the edge of the dunes, looking like the skeletons of some prehistoric monsters.
Keeping us company all the way are the cries of the seabirds and the rushing sound of the waves spilling over the foreshore, all amplified by the cliffs.
Masses of yellow whins cover the steep banks below these cliffs.
Down near the water’s edge, a few wooden stumps rise from the sand. These hark back to the days of salmon netting. Traditional stake net fishing was once a common sight along this coast.
The nets were staked down at right angles to the sea and with a long “leader” guiding the fish into a V-net trap, the poor salmon had little hope of escaping.
To keep the fish fresh for transporting to market, ice, gathered in winter from the river, was packed into ice houses.
From Woodston the track now turns south along the cliff top with some pretty spectacular coastal views. Rising above the fields on our right is the slender spire of St Cyrus Kirk.
This is the Dowry Kirk of St Cyrus and any local lass being wed in it has a rather unusual ritual to perform. She has to be measured.
This tradition goes away back to 1845 when one John Orr, a local landowner, watched a young couple struggle through deep snow en route to their wedding at St Cyrus.
He was quite moved by the scene and left the church a dowry. Each year that dowry (initially equivalent to six month’s wages) would be divided between the tallest, shortest, oldest and youngest St Cyrus brides.
Nowadays, rather than money, each couple is presented with a small memento.
At the wee car park just below the kirk we descend again to the foot of the cliffs by an equally steep track.
Take care – the loose gravel doesn’t give much grip and it’s a long way to the bottom should you slip!
Close to the top is a plaque to George Ross, the man who first made this cliff path in 1882. Once down, we join an easy grassy track that runs parallel to the foot of the cliffs, passing some old salmon bothies along the way. Beside one are two large stacks of rotting net drying poles.
The old name for St Cyrus parish was Ecclesgreig – the church of Crig. Crig, who was a ninth-century Pictish leader, was also known as Ciricus.
The original church was very likely at the Nether Kirkyard which sits close to our track. It wasn’t until 1632 that the church moved to the more convenient site on top of the cliffs.
The old Nether Kirkyard is well worth stopping to explore. It’s entered over a stone stile. Although the old church is gone, the kirkyard is full of interesting stones.
The small stone building tucked into the north-west corner with its chimney and small window reminds us of less pleasant times.
This was the watch house. It harks back to the days of the body snatchers when, even after death, you weren’t safe.
Recently buried bodies were worth cash to the medical schools of Aberdeen and Edinburgh, and there were always unscrupulous characters willing to stoop low enough to meet the demand.
Relatives of the recently buried would therefore stand guard in the watch house overnight to ensure this didn’t happen.
Close to where we enter the kirkyard, within a railed enclosure, is a stone to the lawyer and poet George Beattie.
He fell in love with a young girl with the rather unusual name of William Gibson, and the two were engaged to be married.
However, when the girl came into money from her uncle, she thought she could do better for herself and jilted poor George for another.
This was just too upsetting for George, who shot himself at this very spot in 1823. It’s a romantic but somewhat sad story to end our walk along the coast at St Cyrus. n